


Spark of Madness

by Nikki_Zsilk



Series: Spark of Madness [1]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Canonical Character Death, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Eventual Smut, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, I would tag which Batman character I'm speaking of but that would give it away now wouldn't it?, Murder, Past Abuse, Past Lives, Past Rape/Non-con, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Self-Harming Bruce, Sexual Tension, Work In Progress, in which Harvey is a mess, in which OCs aren't necessarily OC's ;), surprise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-29
Updated: 2017-10-24
Packaged: 2018-05-04 00:05:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 36
Words: 116,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5312174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nikki_Zsilk/pseuds/Nikki_Zsilk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The people who make you feel something are the ones you should fear.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This work was originally posted on Fanfiction.net but I am in the process of posting it on here. There is a sequel in the works!

_**Gotham, Halloween, 10 years ago.** _

Still night air filled Harvey's lungs as he slammed his car door. A curse was said under his breath when he realized he'd caught his costume in his hurry. Fiddling with his key, he wondered how he'd even got here. Stupid costume, stupid bar, stupid night. Typically, he enjoyed working on Halloween; it truly was when all the freaks came out. Arrests were typically hilarious or a little raunchy. Cuffing a half-naked girl wasn't his worst moment, by far.

Things had been rough lately. After word spread of his recent breakup, Dix was on it; calling him off on the night Harvey looked forward to most, buying him some stupid Jedi outfit – robe and all – then setting him up on some  _date_. He'd toyed with not even coming, toyed with the idea of drinking himself stupid and rifling through his closet. Last time he was back at his apartment, he was searching for Molly's things and throwing them out. It was almost as if he could smell her perfume everywhere. Fuck, he hated breakups. Relationships were overrated, and right now, so was this shit bar in this shit neighborhood on this shit holiday.

After getting his costume unstuck, he slammed the door once again and stormed his way toward the building.

"What am I doing?" he muttered to himself while watching scantly-dressed girls enter the bar. "Mistake, Harv. One. Big. Mistake."

Yet he entered anyway.

The place was packed, the music was loud, and there were more near-naked girls in here than he'd seen in quite some time.

Surveying the room, it took no time for him to notice the blonde in the firefighter costume, just as Dix said. Damn it. She saw him and was waving frantically, jumping up in white go-go boots, tits practically escaping from her top.

Making his way over to her was like the long walk to the principal's office for a beating. He wasn't going to have fun tonight, he knew that. His mind was so focused on Molly and her Halloween plans – she'd always have a party at her place; little alcohol, little bobbing for apples, lotsa candy, and – when all guests stumbled on out – great role-play sex. This year she was going to be a Catholic schoolgirl.

Harvey could use a drink.

"Harvey?" she was already sloshed.  _Great_. "Trish." She pointed to herself, "Dix told me all about you. Didn't mention how handsome you were, though." His cheeks - she pinched his cheeks. This had to be a sick joke.

"Yeah?" he laughed nervously, "You trainin' to be a firefighter?" he joked awkwardly.

"What?"

He shook his head, realizing it was a joke and that jokes typically have punchlines, "Nothin'." He ordered two fingers of gin and leaned against the bar.

"What are you supposed to be?" her manicured nails latched around the opening to his robe. "A naughty uncle?"

"No, no. I'm…uh, I'm a Jedi – forgot the lightsaber at home."

A scoff left her lips. She turned away to talk to whoever she was here with before he so rudely interrupted her evening, and honestly, that was fine. He'd rather listen to the music and drink his damn drink anyway. There were too many people for Harvey's liking. Too many sweaty bodies. Too many beautiful girls.

Too many repeated outfits. If he saw one more goddamn bunny, he'd rip the ears off and shove 'em down someone's throat.

Some dude was dressed as a washing machine, which Harvey found pretty comical. There were a lot of animal costumes, a lot of princesses, police officers, firefighters, and vampires, a few clowns…the place looked like a home for rejects. He fit right in.

A costume caught his eye as its wearer approached him; red and white thrown together in a fury that blurred past him. She was wearing red heels and white thigh-highs, the bottom of her dress puffed out and barely covered her ass. Nice, tan thighs peeked out from between the end of the short white dress, and the stockings. Bits of red material covered portions of the dress' skirt and met in a tight corset with a plus sign on the front. A stethoscope was draped around her neck and her blond hair was wavy, cascading past her shoulders and completing the look.

She was so stunning; Harvey almost forgot what words were when she squeezed in front of him, accidentally bumping against his arm.

"Oh, I'm so sorry!" she called over her shoulder, following a friend but meeting eyes with him for a few moments before disappearing into the crowd.

Now that –  _that_  – was what he wanted to be set up with. Damn it, Dix!

He went back to drinking. His gin was refilled twice and all remnants were gone. When nursing a beer, he saw –  _er, what was her name again? Had she said it?_  – leave with the guy she was talking to when he walked in. Well, didn't he see that one coming?

The place was a little less busy than before considering people were leaving to hook up or continue bar hopping. Harvey was seriously considering leaving when a girl tapped his shoulder. He slowly spun around on his barstool.

"Hey, I'm Tracy. My friend over there," she pointed toward a corner booth, "noticed that you're all alone on Halloween and apparently to her that's a bad thing. So come join us. We're celebrating our friend's 21st birthday."

Harvey squinted, "Yanno, that's nice 'an all, but I think I'm gonna have to-" the girl squished dab in the middle of that booth seat was the sexy nurse he'd been eyeing.

The girl beside him frowned, but nodded, "Alright. We're over there if you change your mind." And she left.

With that, Harvey turned back to the barkeep and shook his head. It would never amount to anything and getting his hopes up would just depress him further. A little more alcohol and he should stumble home. He'd just finished his beer when someone set themselves in the empty seat beside him. Hollow eyes looked up to see the nurse from earlier; her hand perched beneath her chin, a small smile on her face, pinkness to her cheeks.

"Hey." She scrunched up her nose at him, "You wanna help a girl out?"

Harvey couldn't help but smirk, "What kind of pickup line is that?"

This got a laugh out of her, "I'm pretty damn good at them, aren't I?" she shook her head, "Tell you what; you help me carry a ton of shots over to that back booth, you get as many as your little heart desires." She poked a finger against his chest and he raised an eyebrow, "You gonna use that Jedi mind trick shit on me?" There was a pause, "Where's your lightsaber?"

 _She_  knew what he was. And here he thought he just didn't pull off the costume. Good 'ol what's-her-name just had no freggin' clue! Trish! Her name was  _Trish_! Harvey was beginning to discover how sloshed he really was.

"I forgot it like an idiot." He laughed, scratching at the back of his neck.

"Well, good thing you've got me to protect you, yanno, just in case." She winked, "So, are you helping me out here?"

"And if I don't?"

This earned a shrug, "I'll find a way." She ordered a number of shots then looked back at him. he didn't break gaze from her until she looked away to hold onto as many shots as she could. "You comin' or not?" Well, what could he lose? So he helped her carry every shot to the back table, then watched as each of her friends grabbed one. The rest, he put on the table. She handed him one and kept one for herself, "To Mackenzie! May this be the  _least_  memorable night of your year."

They all raised their drinks, cheered, then took their shot. Glasses slammed periodically on the table and Harvey managed to look back up at the nurse.

"How about more shots?" he smirked, feeling the alcohol now. She giggled and nodded, following him back to his old reliable barstool. They ordered two more for each of them. "So, what's your name?"

She held up a hand, "Nope."

"What?"

She sighed, "This happens too often." Harvey's expression was that of confusion, "I go to a bar, meet what seems to be a nice guy, introduce myself, and it all starts going downhill from there." Their shots came and she grabbed hers, "So," and she downed the alcohol like it was nothing, scrunching up her nose again at the burn, "no."

Harvey cracked a grin, "Alright, I get it; I get it." He took his shot too, "Then, tell me, you local?"

"Used to be." She nodded, "As of now, I'm living in good 'ol Columbus. That Mackenzie over there still lives here. Haven't seen her since we graduated high school, so I figured we could bring the whole crew back together and celebrate."

"Seems nice. So, college girl?'

She blushed, "Yeah."

"What are ya studying?"

"Clinical Psychiatry." She nodded, "We'll see."

"Pfft, I'm sure it's rough. Well," he raised his next shot, "Good on you." She elevated hers too and they drank.

"We're goin'." That Mackenzie girl stumbled over with the chick who tried to get him over to their back booth in the first place, "Thanks for tonight."

"Get home safe," the nurse saluted.

Harvey looked at the barkeep again, listening to the whole group of her friends cheering and leaving the bar. Someone said goodbye to her, but all Harvey heard was a name that started with an 'H'.

"You're really not gonna tell me your name?"

A smirk appeared on her face, "Sorry. Tonight's my night to be something I'm not." She curtsied. "I should get going, too." She stood, "It was nice meeting you." She ran a hand up his shoulder, into his hair, then right down his back.

He should have stopped her. He should have told her that she took the lonely and the heartache and made him forget for that hour; should have told her that she looked ravishing, that his eyes were glued to her the moment he saw her. There was something different about her; a spark of life in this dingy old town with these used up, broken hearts. She was something to smile about – something to make him believe in good people again.

And truth be told, he did. He believed that people were genuinely good. His partner Dix was good, the force was good. It was just this breakup that made him feel like a grump. This girl reminded him of why he wanted to do what he did: to help the hopeful people of Gotham and remind them that there was good in the world – that people can strive to be better, despite their darkest of times.

But he let her walk right out that door without the slightest objection, nursed a bottle of water, and stumbled his way to his car. When he plopped down in the driver's seat he took a glance to his right. There, on the passenger's side floor mat, was that shitty toy blue lightsaber.

"Son of a -"


	2. Chapter 2

_**Gotham, present day.** _

* * *

 

These churros were a good idea. Harvey strolled back into GCPD, stuffing his face.

"Bullock, damn it, there you are!" Essen's voice sounded over the normal noise of the department.

"Fuck, what? I'm on break."

"Not anymore, you aren't. My office, now."

With a huff, Harvey tossed his food on his desk as he passed it, slipping his coat off and throwing that too. Cap's office? This early in the day? All signs point to: horrible news.

"What couldn't wait until after my food? Churros, Cap, I got churros."

Essen sighed, extending her arm towards the occupant of the seat before her desk. "Bullock, this is Jim Gordon," She paused, "your new partner."

Aw, Hell.

The young man stood and jutted out his hand for Harvey to shake. He narrowed his eyes at it, looked up at this Jim, and finally took his hand loosely.

"This couldn't have waited?" Harvey was still pissed about his food. Essen looked irritated, "Fine. Jim, good to know ya. Welcome, whatever. Don't get any ideas, this ain't like what you're used to." And he took his leave.

The young detective was on his heels, "Yeah? And what do you think I'm used to?"

Harvey halted, "For one, you come in here thinkin' you're gonna make friends." He spun on his heels to face him, pointed a finger at his face, "Ya got this hopeful expression in your eyes. You think you're gonna mix things up; change the scene. Well, that's too bad, partner. You're not gonna do jack shit."

Jim's expression was neutral, "Oh, is that it?"

Harvey visibly fumed, "Yeah, that's it. You'll get washed up just like the rest of us. Consider this your first warning. It's all downhill from here, kid."

Gordon stepped closer, "Kid? Hardly. We'll just see what I do." He walked away.

Shaking his head, Harvey sat back in his chair, throwing his feet up on the desk's edge and finally finishing his churro. Off to a good start.

The shift had passed rather quickly, actually. There was a good hour period where he just sat reading the paper. And then the commotion began. Three bullets sounded before a man started shouting about pills. Every officer in the room raised a gun at this scumbag, They must've just booked him, Harvey noticed as he lowered his paper to watch the show.

Jim was on it in seconds; urging everyone to hold their fire, then pulling some crazy stunt. He was good; had the gun taken from this dickhead in less than a minute, but Harvey was sure as shit going to be on his case. That was his job as partner, afterall.

"The Hell are you doin'?" he pointed at Jim again, pulling him away from the commotion as the officers handled the situation. "We had the drop on him."

"Yeah? Well, he's dropped, isn't he?"

"You coulda gotten hurt; rookie mistake. Next time, shoot the son of a bitch." At that, Gordon responded with some quip about every officer in the place firing if he shot first, "Somebody takes a cop's gun, you shoot him – that's basic."

A voice sounded from the other end of the room, "Yo, Bullock, Gordon; you're up. Double homicide, Theatre District. "

Harvey narrowed his eyes at the man, "Gimme a break. Shift's nearly over."

"Yeah, nearly." The desk sergeant spoke.

That was their cue; Harvey slid on his coat and hat then made his way out to the car where Gordon was already waiting. Typical. It'd been a long while, but Harvey remembered when he was that thrilled to go on the outside. Rookies, man.

Their drive was silent until Harvey parked at the scene.

"Theatre District." Jim spoke with a shake of his head, "Wow."

Harvey rolled his eyes and left the car. They lifted the yellow tape for the two and Harvey ducked underneath it, eyes fixated on two lumps of bodies underneath white sheets. Blood was already staining them. The stench of death filled the alley.

"Ah, the legendary Harvey Bullock. No rest for the wicked, eh?"

"Tannenbaum, lookin' crisp. This is my new partner, James Gordon – what do we got?"

Male. Female. Gunshot wounds. A kid with a blanket draped over him sat on a fire escape, shivering and sniffling. Harvey looked away quickly; stared at the dingy sheets. Crouching, he took a closer look, narrowed his eyes, and raised a balled fist to his mouth.

Fuck.

He stood, "Listen, T. Do me a favor: ya didn't see me, okay?" Tannenbaum give him lip, "That's Thomas and Martha Wayne. I don't need that kinda hassle." Oh, boy, that was the understatement of the century. "Call Major Crimes, they'd love to have this."

Jim was talking to the witness. Jesus. Of-fucking-course he was. Harvey took a minute to get his nerves together, but they let another man under the yellow tape. He was studious, tall, and looked absolutely grief-stricken, but composed himself as soon as the witness stood up. A look of relief crossed the boy's face. That kid had to be Bruce Wayne. The man picked him up, held him, then set him back down and spoke with Jim.

"Alfred Pennyworth." His voice was accented.

"We're gonna get the guy who did this."

"New boy, are you?" Alfred spoke, "G'luck, mate." And he escorted the boy away, "Head up…don't let them see you cry." Harvey heard him mutter.

Again, Harvey looked away, fighting off every urge to pull out his hip flask and down half the thing. Instead, he bolted. Met up with Jim later in a diner, ordered a coffee and put a little Irish in it. He then warned him about the case and talking to witnesses before his say-so. This kid just wouldn't get it.

Then low and behold, in walked Montoya and Allan

"Oh, crap."

They had words. Snark. Montoya called him out about being scared of the Wayne case. She had the audacity to tell him to 'do the right thing for once'. For once? Who in the Hell did she think she was?

Pretty soon he was in Essen's office again, being told to close the case as quickly as humanly possible; getting reamed about having to keep Jim. Irritating. Absolute bullshit.

"She said you had to keep me, huh?" Jim commented as Harvey stormed toward him.

He fumed, "Yeah, she did. Said you were a war hero and daddy was a big shot D.A. back in the olden days, so I have to keep my trap shut and do as I'm told."

"Ouch."

Harvey told him to transfer, but Jim mouthed off. He seemed like a good kid, but this was no place for that. No place for hope or do-gooding. This was a rotten pit for the damned, and Jim would spiral faster than Harvey did. Honestly, he'd hate to see it. But it appeared he'd have to. Gordon called him a cynic; lackadaisical. He liked it.

After their confrontation, they went out to roust some muggers; take some eye-witness reports of some robberies; gather some people.

The faster Harvey got off this shift, the better. A bottle of Jack waited for him on the counter at his place. He was counting down the hours until he could down the whole thing. It was just one shit storm after another lately. What else could possibly screw up?


	3. Chapter 3

Detective Bullock stood leaned back against his car, pinching the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. Jim decided to go question the witness of a suspected robbery, even though they were already on the right track of rousting some muggers. They didn't need any more, but Jim apparently thought it would be appropriate to speak to this old biddy. Technically, he was supposed to follow suit, but _cats, man._ There were cats escaping that place almost as soon as that elderly woman opened the door. If there was one thing Harvey hated more than investigating a dead-end, it was freggin' cats.

From the quiet street, a few cars passed, but traffic was pretty bearable. They were only a few blocks away from the station. They could have walked if he was feeling energetic – which he was not. Lately, Harvey had been rather grouchy, actually. Something was off; almost like a vicious cycle of boring and corrupt. Gone were the days when he could be the good guy. Life was relatively exciting then, but his drive was squashed fairly quickly in this gig. Shit, was he dreading going back to that station after this. It'd been a while since he slept, and as much as he'd like to tell himself those were his plans after work, he knew it was a lie.

"Would you get  _out_ of my way!?" So much for a quiet street. The detective looked up, glaring from under the bridge of his hat.

"Gonna have to put your hands on me first," came the voice of a man.

Boy, Harvey needed some action today. This would just about do it.

Harvey's legs were carrying him forward faster than the synapses were firing in his brain. A woman in a dress was carrying a large box; a man blocking the steps she was trying to climb. The short woman glared while she shifted the box in her arms.

"Is there a problem here?" he took a stance beside the man, hands falling to his belt and resting on the buckle. The man to his left was taller than him by a half an inch.

Expression harsh, the man spoke, "What's it to ya?" Harvey recognized the kid – he'd been held overnight for public intoxication a time or several before.

With a flash of his badge and clearing of his throat, he spoke, "Really, kid? Stop causing trouble and get outta here before I cuff ya." Upon seeing the badge, the guy bolted between the two of them, knocking the edge of the box the woman held. Harvey jolted toward it, grabbing it from her hands before it toppled to the ground. "I got it."

"It's no problem. I could…" but the box was already out of her hands.

"Where you takin' this, miss?" he finally met eyes with her. She had a very pretty face – soft arched eyebrows, full lips, cheekbones with a dusting of blush, and big brown eyes with a golden ring around the irises. She looked a bit flabbergasted, but quickly straightened.

"Up to my apartment, but I can take it." She assured him, though he didn't plan on handing back her things.

"It's the least I can do after a guy like that bothers ya." The kid was scum, and he knew it well.

She caved then; turning to grab another box from what Harvey assumed was her little red car. Instantly she locked it and spun back to him.

Softly, she spoke, "Thank you. Please, follow me." He did. The building was one of the decent ones in Gotham; not the greatest. The city could be a pretty big disappointment sometimes, but this was a decently safe section of town – for now. The woman's heel clicks were the only sound as they climbed two sets of stairs and made a left. Struggling with the lock, the woman huffed and almost dropped the large box as she reached for the door handle. He followed her inside then heard her place down her box.

"Whoa." Harvey mumbled upon entering. The apartment was quite large, but empty. No paintings no decorations, just a  _lot_  of boxes.

"Yeah. I just moved back to Gotham. It's gonna be a lot of work setting this place up. Kinda discouraging." She trailed off. "Oh!" she grabbed the box from him and set it next to the other. Her hand jutted out for him to shake, "I'm Elizabeth Sorkin."

"Bullock. Uh…Harvey! Harvey Bullock." He laced his hand with hers; a shock of cold overpowering him for a mere second. Shit, were her hands freezing! Quickly, he pulled away. "You said you moved _back_  here?" he put his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket.

"Mhm. I moved away to get my degree." She paused as he raised an eyebrow, "I just got a Master's Degree in Counseling at Ohio State."

The detective shifted his stance, pursing his lips and nodding – impressed. "Ohio? I can dig it. Good for you. Well, let me be the first to welcome you back. I'm sure you were just itching to return to this petri dish of corruption and filth!" Her eyes widened just slightly and Harvey realized how shocking his words must have been. "Uh…sorry." He scratched the back of his neck, "I do that. I'll…show myself out." With that, he turned to leave.

"Wait!" Elizabeth called, "At least stay for a drink. You got that creep to leave me alone. I appreciate it. I often forget how…persistent freaks are in Gotham."

She seemed thoughtful. She seemed gentle and soft. She seemed hopeful and it reminded him all too well of the kind of caring he used to see when he looked in a mirror. She resembled the kind of woman he could ruin.

"I'm on duty. Maybe next time, kid." The hip flask in his pocket seemed to ignite at his lie. He could swear he felt it burning his chest. When he looked over at her, her lips were a hard line, jaw clenched.

"Mr. Bullock, I can assure you, I'm no  _kid_." Shit. He'd hit a nerve. "And I won't take 'no' for an answer. I'm repaying you somehow." The last sentence was a bit softer than the first two.

She had spunk. Harvey couldn't help but smirk, "Alright, okay! Tonight, then. I get off at 7. How about you meet me at the station?"

"Deal." She could use some time away from all this unpacking, if she were being honest. Getting out sounded like a good plan as well. It'd been years since she'd been in Gotham and at the time, she wasn't big on going out. A good night was when she'd order in – some Chinese, a movie, maybe a bubble bath. So much had changed since then. She had grown into her skin. And having an officer as an acquaintance was always a positive – especially in this city. "I shouldn't keep you any longer. See you tonight, officer."

"Detective." He corrected, "And yeah, tonight." He turned to leave and called over his shoulder, "Nothing fancy. Just a bar sound good to you?"

Elizabeth found herself smiling, "Absolutely. Thanks again."

Harvey was smirking as he exited the building. Well, who would'a thought?

"Hey." Jim. Damn. Good mood ruiner. "Where the Hell were you?"

Harvey straightened, shaking his head once, "You ready?" he paused, "She know anything?"

"Nah. Back to square one."

"Didn't I tell you?"

"Shut it, Bullock."

They got in Harvey's car, slamming the door at near the same moment.

The night had gotten absolutely insane: people were being arrested left and right. The cell was almost full. A power outage in part of the city let criminals run rampant – more so than they already did. Phone calls were coming in; concerned parents, detectives from other districts calling in to ask if they had their perps. In all honesty, it was Hell.

Did he mention that he killed a guy? Yeah. He killed a guy. Mario Pepper. One bullet. One dead scumbag. It felt right, but Harvey didn't like killing. That bastard had a family – a family he just ruined. The plus side? They closed the Wayne case.

Harvey could not wait to get off; hit that proverbial time clock. He could use a drink. Fuck, he could use a lap dance.

"Bullock, someone here for you." Alvarez called over the ruckus that was the station. The detective glanced up from the paperwork, peeking over his black-rimmed glasses. Quickly, he shoved them off his face and onto the desk. He stood and placed his hands on his belt buckle.

"Ah, Ohio. Thought you wouldn't show." He joked.

She smiled at him and shook her head, "And miss  _this_?" She motioned around her, "Hell no." It was the first time he got to look at her as she climbed the stairs toward his desk. The same dress covered her small frame, hugging her curves in all the right places, and swaying with her movements. She'd put a bit of makeup on and her auburn hair now hung loose and wavy, just grazing her shoulders. Harvey could feel Jim's eyes on the woman and then he began glancing curiously between the two of them.

"Right. Well, I'm…" Harvey glanced at his watch, "Off now, so, shall we?" Shoving his arms into his leather jacket, he turned to acknowledge Jim, "See ya tomorrow, Detective." He chuckled, knowing his partner had plenty of questions, but leaving them unanswered was a game he got a kick out of – probably more of a kick than he should have.

He was always a gentleman and he linked his arm with hers to escort her out. Alvarez gave him a sideways look on his way, but he just smirked and saluted. They made their way to his car, Harvey checking the parking lot and realizing that she must have walked this whole way. In heels. In this neighborhood. Silently, he shook his head and hoped she'd learn. Maybe her street was nice, but the streets leading to GCPD were crap and it was already dark. Was she looking for a problem?

"Is it like that every day?" she asked, pointing behind her to the station.

"I've heard it's pretty lax on days I'm not there." He quipped, opening her door, "Trouble follows me."

Elizabeth chuckled, "We'll see about that." She closed her door and Harvey made his way to the driver's side, then got in.

"We kinda just closed a big case."

"You, personally?" she looked over at him as he pulled out onto the road. He nodded, "Congrats!"

He took off to Finnigan's, "You're sweet. Thanks."

Boy, it'd been a while since he'd taken a lady out. Typically, he'd have the occasional bar hook-up: come in alone, leave with a scantly-dressed bombshell…er – bombshell when he wore his beer goggles. Then it was a blurred detour to her place, great/decent/unsatisfactory sex, leaving when she was asleep, and scurrying his way back to his place. Those nights often ended with a shower and a wide-awake-staring-at-the-ceiling-how-did-I-get-here kinda experience. Icing on the cake was when his alarm went off before he'd even begun to doze.

After he parked, they went inside. It was your run-of-the-mill pub, nothing fancy.

"Ever been here?" he asked as they slid into a booth.

"Can't say I have." She was busy taking the place in instead of looking at the menu. Did she want food? Drinks? Shit, it'd been so long since he'd done this.

"What are we having?" the waitress came over, pen and pad in hand. Her naturally long, wavy, blond hair was pinned up out of her face and when she met eyes with Harvey, she glared. "Oh,  _hi._ "

"Hey, Deb…" Harvey felt two feet tall. He wanted to just sink deep in this burgundy cushion and pretend like this never happened. Of all the waitresses in all the city, why her?

"You didn't call. You should've just-"

"I'll have a Labatt." He tried to get her to leave before she made a scene, but she just kept on.

"When you said you wanted to come to my sister's wedding with me, you could have just told me that you weren't interested." Deb continued.

Elizabeth sat with her eyes curious, but stood quickly, "I'll go get you that Labatt." She spoke directly to him, bringing her purse. Harvey fished for his wallet, trying to ignore Deb and stop Elizabeth before she ran off, but he was too slow. Well, there she goes. This girl was going to walk right out that door and this'll be just some funny story she tells to her friends about the detective with the bad luck and crazy one-night-stands with girls whose name he barely knew.

Deb sighed, "Was it something I did? I mean, I know we met at the bar and all, but we had promise, didn't we?" If he were being completely honest, he'd stopped listening after Elizabeth left. His eyes focused on the wood of the table, until a Labatt was placed in his view. He looked up and saw Elizabeth sipping what looked to him like a Kahlua and Cream, another in her other hand. She set both down on her side of the table, lightly touching Harvey on the shoulder in good manner. Deb stepped closer to her and Harvey felt Elizabeth slightly shift backward, but regain her ground within milliseconds, as if she were fighting her reflexes. "You better watch yourself. Stray far away from this guy. He's nothing but a long, worn road." The statement was strident, poignant, and it made Harvey remember what a sharp tongue the woman had when she was drinking. They were horrible together.

Harvey's eyes fell back to the table, away from the women and trying to drown the pang of hurt with half of his Labatt. Elizabeth noticed his reaction and felt a flare of annoyance in the pit of her stomach. No, she hadn't known Harvey long by any means, but he had been nothing but gentlemanly and from what she'd overheard while waiting for the drinks at the bar, this gal was quite the loose bolt.

So Elizabeth smiled at this  _Deb_ woman then let her gaze land on Harvey, trailing up his arm and to his hair, swiping a stray piece in place. His eyes were soft when he broke his glare at the bottle as she rubbed circles against the back of his neck. He sat straight up, eyes widened.

"I think I can handle him. Thanks though, sweetie _._ "

Deb took two seconds to visibly fume, "Whatever. You're gonna wish you listened." And off she stormed.

Harvey was about to thank Elizabeth, but she was back in her seat within seconds. He had a few questions, but he bit his tongue. Later. They could wait until later.

"Well, if we're gonna want food, I can get us another waitress." She downed half of one of the Kahlua and Cream and Harvey raised an eyebrow, sipping his beer.

"You're tough to read, yanno that?"

She paused and considered his comment, "No one's ever told me that."

He laughed, "What  _was_ all that?"

"She was being a bitch to you. I was a bigger one." She shrugged.

"Well, thank you. I do appreciate the gesture."

She interrupted him, "Although, how  _dare_ you say you wanted to go to her sister's wedding, then ditch. How could you, Harvey? I thought I knew you." Her tone was humorous – clearly sarcastic – and Harvey was shaking his head, embarrassed.

"Not yet, Ms. Sorkin." He took another swig of beer.

Her fingers played with the condensation on the glass while Harvey thought of her hand on his neck, "Don't we all have that crazy ex-lover story?" She raised her drink and they clinked their glasses together.

That made him remember something. He reached for his wallet and pulled out some cash, "I'm kinda old fashioned; the woman should  _not_ pay for a night out." He'd almost said date. Damn, he'd almost said date. Cue warning sirens and red flags. She'd bolt for sure this time. He held a twenty between his middle and index finger. "Please, it'd make me feel better."

A smile crept to her face, "That's too bad, Detective, this round was already bought."

He huffed, figuring there was no way to sway this woman. The money went right back in his wallet, "Fine, then next round's on me."

She got done with the first Kahlua when she said, "Might have to take a rain check on that one: I start work tomorrow."

"Ooh, do tell." He put the bottle to his lips again. She must have moved here with a job already set up. There was no way in  _Hell_ she just snagged a gig today.

She suddenly grew stiff but then vaguely eased up again, "I'll be working at Wayne Manor."

Harvey almost choked. "Shit." He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, "Waitressing, I could see; Gotham Press, modeling, Irish Folk Dancing…but Wayne Manor? How the Hell did you get  _that_  gig? Heard the valet is one of the few still working there after the mister and missus spewed their guts all over Park Row." He joked, but he could still see the shocked expression on their corpses, the tear stains from young Bruce Wayne; the bullet wound through Mario Pepper.

Elizabeth cringed, "Irish Folk Dancing?" Harvey shrugged at her. "My uncle was friends with Thomas."

"That so?"

Initially, her expression was defensive, but it softened slightly, "Are you cross-examining me?"

"It's possible."

"Well, what do you want me to tell?" she propped her elbows on the table and leaned in just the slightest bit.

Harvey didn't miss a beat before he questioned, "How old are you?"

That was it. He'd done it again. Just as fast as her walls came down, he saw them stacking right back up and he wished he hadn't been so stupid. This could wait. No need to get in over his head. He could have asked her later. But he knew how he was about this sort of thing; he'd focus on it all night and never ask, and by the time he got his answer, he'd be in too deep and crawling out of a woman's life was one of his least favorite pastimes.

"Twenty-eight."  _Twelve years…shit, Harv._ "You?"

He could leave now. He could. He could do it. Just up and go before this went south. But she knew there was an age gap between them, coming into this – she had to have – it's obvious! And he probably looked years older than he actually was, what with him not taking proper care of himself and whatnot. Sleep deprivation, stress, cigs, and alcohol sure as shit adds years on.

"Forty." He was ready to grab his keys and take her home, drop her off on the sidewalk and leave. No harm, no foul.

But she merely nodded, "Your partner seemed pretty quizzical about you leaving with me."

Was she really changing the subject? "Jim? Yeah, he's just easily surprised when a pretty gal walks in. It's usually trouble." he finished his Labatt.  _Not to mention, most pretty women walking into the station means domestic violence. There's usually a bruise or two well-hidden under pounds of makeup._ Just the thought of it made him want something stronger than beer. Elizabeth was sitting there, quietly staring at him. No wide-eyed expression or mouth agape. Instead, her eyebrows were knitted together. Otherwise, she was a blank slate. "Oh, come on, I know you psych types: you think you can just sit around and psychoanalyze people and it ain't okay." He shook his head, leaning back against the booth and sprawling his arms out, "You won't like me when I'm psychoanalyzed."

She shook her head, "Sorry. Sometimes I just can't shut it off…" Something in her expression was off. She seemed very disappointed in herself, but Harvey wasn't sure if he was reading her correctly.

"Tell me about this Wayne job." He changed the subject so he could rid the memories of those brutalized women from his brain – stat.

There was a pause between the two before she finally spoke, "My uncle knew Thomas – worked on his cars a lot. They became buddies. Thomas let it slip one night that he wanted his son to have an on-call psychologist because he remembered how hard adolescence was. He knew that having all that money would get Bruce into some squabbles with some kids and he'd have a rough time making friends. Martha didn't want anything to do with it, so they dropped it. But my uncle mentioned what I was going to school for and Thomas was impressed. Again, Martha wanted none of it, so it wasn't spoken of again. I'd met the man twice, I believe. He was adamant about having me in Bruce's life when he hit that critical age, and, well, I wasn't about to turn down a paying job." Elizabeth finished her second drink, "Bumped into Martha and Bruce at the market one day and we had a nice chat. Apparently, after she found out who I was, she agreed to let me council Bruce in the future." She bit her lower lip, "It was about a month ago that I got a call from some Alfred Pennyworth – their butler – apparently in their will, they wrote instructions for him. They wanted to hire me to be Bruce's grief counselor upon their death. The kid hasn't taken it very well, as expected, so Alfred asked – quite gruffly, actually – if I would come work for them."

"And you accepted."

"I had nothing keeping me in Ohio."

Harvey nodded, "Family?"

Elizabeth halted all movement, "You creating a file on me, or somethin'?" Harvey noticed that she was content with answering things about others, but never herself.

"You know, you're not very good at this whole  _friendship_  thing." Harvey leaned in, resting his forearms on the edge of the table.

"Oh, and you're an open book," She challenged, which made Harvey laugh. "Did I ask you about that waitress? I don't pry, Harvey, but now I'm thinking I should."

He held his hands up in defense, "Just making conversation." God, the sass in this one. "Ask away."

"Friend of yours?"

Harvey shook his head, "Far from it. That chick hates me. We met at a bar a decade ago. Tracked her down. Whatever. She's psycho."

"You sure know how to pick 'em, I see."

"Now. Family?"

She bit at her lower lip, sighed, and then spoke, "I grew up here, moved for undergrad, my parents got out too; didn't believe it was a safe place anymore. Pretty pissed I'm back now. Apparently this place  _still_ isn't safe enough for their little girl."

_Damn right,_ Harvey thought. "We've got a good police force – we'll keep ya safe."

She met his eyes, looked down at the table while smiling, then back up to him, "Yeah? I'll try to remember that."

 


	4. Chapter 4

Harvey drove in early the next morning with a smile on his face. No, he didn't stumble up to Elizabeth's apartment last night. No, he didn't do something he'd regret. They spent hours at the bar, chatting and swapping stories, he drove her home, she touched him on the arm again, then he watched her walk into her apartment building, and drove himself to his place. And the kicker? He actually got about four hours of sleep.

"Morning, sunshine!" he slapped Gordon on the back, making his way to his desk with a danish in hand.

His partner raised his eyebrow, "Well, you're in a good mood. What gives, Bullock? Have something to do with your  _daughter_?"

"Har, har." He sat himself at his desk, "I had a wonderful night last night, thanks for asking."

Gordon scoffed, "What, was your walk of shame only down one flight of stairs this time?" Damn, he knew he shouldn't have told him about that time with the girl on the twelfth floor with a broken elevator.

"Nope, no shame walking this time."

"So you stayed the night?"

Harvey rolled his eyes with a sigh, closing the manila folder Cap had lying on his desk, "What's with the twenty questions?"

"Well, if that isn't a double standard, I don't know what is." Gordon mumbled, "Come on, you're always on me about Barbara, and you know it." He paused, "So, you gonna call her?"

Wasn't that the question of the day? Was he? She'd actually snagged a pen out of her purse when they pulled up in front of her building, grabbed his hand, and wrote her number on the back, between the two swollen, blue veins that met at his index and middle finger like a leaf. He'd wrote it on a note and put it on the fridge and even put it in his phone, but he couldn't wash it off to save his ass. Felt like a damn fourteen year-old schoolboy.

"Maybe."

Gordon saw him looking at his hand and squinted at the fading number. "Ah, well there, loverboy. Might wanna get your head in the game – we've gotta get going."

"What? I just got here."

Thomas and Martha Wayne's funeral was today.

Elizabeth pulled up to Wayne Manor, using the passcode Alfred assigned to her, and then watching the gates open. She drove through before they closed and ogled at the place – what had she gotten herself into? After parking, she shouldered her purse and held down the bottom of her dress while the wind whipped around her.

A yawn escaped her on the way to the door. She hadn't slept well, what with a new apartment and all. Her bed was set up after she got home from the bar, and a few bathroom necessities were in place from when she did her hair and makeup that morning, but the place was still in disarray.

She was kicking herself, though. She'd given Harvey her number – usually it was the other way around, and she liked it that way: if she wanted to call them, she would. If not, well…

Now it was up to Harvey, and if she were being honest, she didn't think he'd call. The way he'd looked at her when she'd spoken her age was enough to make her want to bolt.

These were the thoughts running through her head after she rang the doorbell. She straightened as the door opened before her.

"Miss Sorkin, I presume?" a brusque gentleman greeted her. He was handsome, a few feet taller than her, and very proper.

"Yes, Mr. Pennyworth." She smiled.

"Alfred. Come in." he stepped aside, allowing her to enter and then closing the door. "Master Bruce is in the library," as she took off her coat, he grabbed it from off her shoulders and hung it on the coat rack. "I'll give you a tour, and then we may introduce the Master."

Wayne Manor was unbelievable. The layout, the expense, the décor were all so lavish. She felt the need to stop somewhere on her way home and pick up classier outfits. Her simple dress was not suitable in her mind after seeing this place – and it was one of her best dresses!

"Alfred?" came a soft voice and Elizabeth watched the man's arms shift behind his back, nodding his head in greeting of the young man standing before them. "Did you touch the profile I was working on?"

"No, sir. However, it is rather rude of you not to greet your guest."

Finally Bruce looked up, "Elizabeth, it has been quite some time."

" _Ms. Sorkin_ , Master Bruce."

"No, please, call me Liz, I don't mind." She urged.

The young man nodded, "It is good to see you. Please, come into the study."

"Erm, Master Bruce, may I suggest we take our meeting elsewhere. It  _is_ her first day here, and she may not desire the mess you've created in that miserably dark room."

Elizabeth felt out of place judging by how proper things were, "No, I can assure you that my apartment is currently messier than anything Bruce can muster. Wherever you choose for us to meet is fine by me."

Bruce looked slightly smug as he led them into the study. Alfred wasn't kidding. Bruce had made a mess. She couldn't help but glance at the files, articles, photos, that were strewn about.

"Master Bruce has decided to play detective as of late, haven't you now?" Alfred still stood with his hands clasped behind his back. He was in front of the large fireplace as Bruce took a seat on one of the couches.

"I've been investigating who murdered my parents." Bruce admitted, and Elizabeth didn't break her gaze from Alfred. Although his features were stoic, she saw right through his eyes; they were pained the moment Bruce said  _murder._

"Won't you sit, Alfred?" a part of her wanted to fit into this classy act, but it was exhausting and she was tired as it was. The butler looked surprised, but unbuttoned his jacket as he uncomfortably sat beside Elizabeth. "Bruce," she wasn't expecting to be starting with the counseling so soon. It was like the first day of university classes, she'd assumed: syllabus day. Alfred would go over her pay, her hours, the home, and whatever else she was expected to know. "Why do you think it's your job to investigate their deaths?"

He waited no time to answer, "They were my family. I need to focus on something."

"Yes, but not  _this_ psychotically." Alfred's voice was harsher, deeper, passionate. Elizabeth gave him a look.

"Alfred is right. Hobbies are a good thing, but this is a little excessive. I'm sure you can see that."

"Yes, but, it needs to be done. And what else am I supposed to do?"

She breathed deeply, "That's what I'm here for. We can create an individualized action plan for you. Anything you wanna do, we can do. Anything you wanna chat about, that's what I'm here for."

"Mother didn't like psychiatrists."

"I'm a  _psychologist_. Do you know the difference?"

"You can't prescribe pills." He answered after a beat.

"You're an intelligent young man." Elizabeth smiled, "Your mother warmed up to me, and she wanted you to see me."

Bruce nodded, "Alfred showed me the will."

Their conversation was fluid after that. He spent most of his time talking about the files and all of his research. Alfred excused himself to get them all tea once, and soon it was just the two adults, discussing her salary, hours, and expectations.

That is, until Bruce entered the room, "The funeral is in an hour. I would like it if you came."

Elizabeth was shaken but didn't let it show. Instead, she nodded once and stood, "I'd better get ready, then." Quickly, Bruce left, looking distraught.

"I hope Master Bruce hasn't frightened you off with such short notice." Alfred muttered while helping Elizabeth slip her coat on. "Surely, you aren't required to attend today."

"Oh, no – if that's what he wants, I'm there."

Alfred's look was serious as he nodded, "Good to hear. See you soon, Ms. Sorkin."

Elizabeth left that afternoon with a dozen thoughts running through her head; she knew she wanted to loosen Bruce up a bit, she wanted to make him comfortable around her, but most of all she wanted to get the pain out of his eyes. Loss did wretched things to even the toughest people – watching what it did to Bruce was going to be rough.

She was ready in an hour; she'd driven home, found a black dress and shoes, threw a nice black coat on, and was on her way early, just in case Bruce needed her.

She was right. He did need her.

Just as the guests were rolling in, Bruce turned and saw them preparing the caskets for the ceremony. Typically, Alfred was on it; telling him to stiffen his lip, straighten up his spine, and hold steady. Bruce, however, broke down. Alfred swore under his breath, quickly looking around to see if the few early guests had noticed. They hadn't. Bruce ran toward where Alfred parked the car. It was Elizabeth's turn to take control of the situation. To an extent, Alfred was right, but Bruce was also a  _kid_. A kid who was there in that dark, freezing alleyway with the echo of the gunshots and the smell of blood. And she was sure that the flashing police lights bouncing off the bricks around him left afterimages for hours. He was still reeling.

Zigzagging her way between a few guests, Elizabeth followed Bruce.

Jim dragged Harvey early. Apparently he felt some obligation to the kid. This. This was why Harvey didn't get attached to victims – or anyone for that matter. You have to start doing things for them and there are obligations that come with being friends. The whole thing was just a royal ass pain.

"Jim, it's early." Harvey whined. He usually came to funerals just as people were leaving. Well, the few funerals he'd actually attended. He could say his well wishes and get on without having to make conversation with the living. Good deal. In, out, grab a bite on the way home. Someone shoulder-checked him, "Ey!" when he snapped his head in their direction, it looked an awful lot like Elizabeth.

"Hey, wasn't that your friend from last night?" Jim stopped as well.

"Detective Gordon. Glad you could make it." Came that accented voice from the Wayne's scene again, pulling Jim's attention away; but not Harvey's.

He was busy staring at Elizabeth in her black coat and heels. Something felt familiar and it gave him an iron taste in the back of his mouth. Silently, he watched her speaking with Bruce. People passed them, people called Bruce's name, yet she didn't lose focus from the boy. She put a small hand on his cheek, rubbing gently with her thumb, then crouching down in those heels. Her lips were moving. She was speaking something low as Harvey approached them. He hadn't even realized he'd been walking; he was so entranced. Harvey heard a few sniffles and realized she was comforting a sobbing Bruce Wayne. He took a step back.

Elizabeth pulled the young man into a hug from her crouched height. She let him cry, didn't care what kind of punishment Alfred would suggest. If the tears were flowing now, then now was a good time to grieve.

There were footsteps to her right and she half expected it to be Alfred. A smile lifted her features when she saw who it was, but as soon as Bruce's fingers buried themselves in the fabric of her coat, she was right back to comforting him.

"We're here for you." She hushed against his ear. "Don't let Alfred tell you this makes you weak. This changes nothing."

Bruce pulled away, looking into her eyes and Harvey felt like an intruder. This was such an intimate moment, he wanted to get out; shoulda never walked over in the first place.

"You mean that?" he choked.

"Every word." Her hand left his back and found its way to her pocket, "Here," she pulled out a few perfectly folded tissues. Typical, Harvey thought. Bruce took them and as soon as she stood, he noticed Harvey.

"Oh." He quickly wiped at his eyes and his nose. Harvey raised his chin, noticing how swiftly Bruce returned to the epitome of composure.

"I don't know if you two have officially met: Harvey, this is Bruce Wayne. Bruce, this is Detective Harvey Bullock."

"Hi." Harvey shook his hand, noting how harsh of a handshake the kid gave. Probably had something to do with the valet.

"You're Detective Gordon's partner." Bruce spoke, his voice a little shaky.

"Yeah."

"He kept his promise."

It only took a few seconds, but Harvey could tell the moment when realization struck Elizabeth. Bruce made his way back to Alfred and Elizabeth walked alongside of Harvey, her eyes wide.

"Aw, c'mon, don't look at me like that; it's embarrassing."

Her voice was hushed, but snappy, " _This_ was the case you closed yesterday?" Harvey nodded, "And the minute I dropped the bomb that I'm working with their  _kid,_ you didn't think that was the opportune moment to tell me what case you just closed?"

"What would it matter?"

"Would'a been nice getting a heads-up."

"Harvey," Jim interrupted, jutting his hand out before Elizabeth, "I'm Detective Gordon."

"Elizabeth Sorkin." She shook it, completely unabashedly.

The funeral was touching. Elizabeth hadn't known these people very well, but it felt like a part of Gotham died with them. It weighed heavy on her the rest of the evening.

Her drive home was quiet. She hated funerals. They always reminded her of being wide-eyed and five, sitting in the basement of some funeral parlor with the ashes of her granddaddy in some stuffy box while she ate crappy store-bought cookies and her family spoke of how sad it was they lost him so young. They reminded her of her burgundy dress she wore; of white shoes and crying the whole way home because she was leaving one of the few people who made her feel like she was worth something. Funerals reminded her of how many she'd attended over the course of her life: 27. Make  _this_  28.

Her drive brought her down roads she hadn't seen in years. Some of the streets hadn't changed since she was younger. Yet, the crime in Gotham just kept getting worse and worse.

At home, she poured a glass of wine, checked her answering machine – because, well, she was hopeful that they'd have a few minutes to talk about last night – and went to work getting as much set up in the apartment as she could. She'd just gotten the living room the way she liked it when the phone resounded. Three rings passed before she picked up.

"Hello?"

"Ohio, you actually gave me a real number."

The smile that lifted her features was embarrassing to say the least, "Of course, Harv! Why would I give you a fake?"

"If I say it's happened to me before, would you hold it against me?"

"A little."

"Fine, then never happened." He chuckled, "I know the whole don't-call-for-three-days shit, and I'm  _seriously_ breaking the rules since we saw each other today, but I just had to know what Wayne Manor is like from the inside. If it makes you feel better, we can  _not_ talk for a week after this."

Elizabeth sipped her wine, setting herself down on the red couch, "Where do you come up with this shit, Detective?" she laughed, "But fine; I'll spill." She felt bad for gossiping, especially since Bruce had been so welcoming – and so down today – but there were a few things she noticed during her time at the manor.

"Some posh shit there, hm?"

She couldn't help but wonder where Harvey was at the moment. It was awfully quiet on the other end of the line, and it made this whole conversation feel more intimate than it really was. "They have a chandelier in their bathroom." She said flatly. The boisterous laughter that came from the other line was a gift.

Harvey snorted, "No…no they do  _not_!" she could imagine him red in the face, "That's rich."

"Gave me ideas for my apartment. I'm setting out to buy one tomorrow, think you could help me install it?"

The pause on the line was a bit too long, "You're gonna have to help a guy out here; I told ya I can't read you – you serious?"

Liz snorted then, "God, no!"

"Damn, I was just grabbing my tool belt."

Now it was her time to pause, "Seriously?"

"No! Keep up, Ohio, I thought this was a game we're playin' here."

She shook her head, staring at the painting she needed to hang, "Actually, now that you mention a tool belt…"

"God damn, what is it, woman?"

That made her smile, "I have a few things I may or may not need help with around here."

"And I may or may not require some kinda haggling for price."

"As expected," absentmindedly, she bit her lower lip, "Tell ya what: whatever you want for dinner, say the word, and I'll make it. Tomorrow?"

Harvey was hesitant at first. Were they jumping into this whole friendship thing too quick? He had to be honest – it felt right. It'd been quite some time since he'd had respectable plans on a Thursday night. Hell, it'd been quite some time since he'd had a  _friend_  to see on a Thursday night. Most of his evening visitors were less than presentable.

"Something Italian." He decided.

"Lasagna, spaghetti, stuffed shells…"

"Ooh, stuffed shells – lotsa sauce!" His mouth was watering at the thought of it.

"Done." The thought of him in a tool belt instead of a gun in a holster on his hip was the image of the night. "Well, Mr. Handyman, what time do you get off?"

It took everything Harvey had  _not_  to make a sexual innuendo, "Five." He managed.

"I'll see you after, then." And they hung up.

This was  _not_  how Harvey had expected that conversation to go. Hell, it was not how Harvey expected the  _day_  to go. He'd almost been killed when he went to look for Jim, who he wouldn't have even known about if Barbara hadn't paid him a visit. Fish sent Butch on him – strung him up like a pig for slaughter. Falcone came in and got them the Hell outta there. Just as Harvey though they were in the clear, Fish had a message for him; have Jim kill some sniveling dipshit of hers. If it went south, Harvey was expected to kill them both. He liked Jim, he did, but damn it he liked living too. If this didn't happen, Harvey and Jim's squeeze would be put in some seriously rough situations from here on. These people knew torture. These people  _liked_ torture. That was not a way Harvey wanted to go out.

And the kid did it - Jim killed this greasy snake. So it was.

Harvey had clocked out, called Elizabeth, and was on his way to the bar as soon as they hung up. With the weight of the day, he knew he wasn't sleeping tonight. Drowning out the nightmares was how he got by.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure how I feel about AO3 yet. It hasn't impressed me so far. Eh, who knows, it still may 'wow' me. I'll be posting quite a bit in a short amount of time just because I have 18 chapters posted on fanfic.net and should keep you guys up-to-date with the current chapter.  
> Let me know what you think.


	5. Chapter 5

Yesterday's wind brought rain clouds and gray skies. Wayne Manor was quiet, as Elizabeth expected was the norm. Alfred was in the kitchen as soon as he let her in. Finding her way to the study proved more difficult than she remembered.

"Elizabeth?" came Bruce's voice as soon as she entered the dimly-lit study. "Please, come in."

As if on cue, Alfred brought in a tray of coffee for her, tea for Bruce, and some cakes. Elizabeth set down her notebook and purse.

"How are you gentlemen today?" she asked, grabbing the coffee cup and thanking Alfred.

"Peachy." The accent was snarky. "Master Bruce decided  _not_ to sleep last night. Looks like a vision, as you can tell."

Elizabeth glanced at the boy while adding creamer to her coffee. His eyes were vaguely bloodshot and there were dark circles underneath, but overall he looked okay.

"Why haven't you been sleeping?" she began, easily slipping into her counseling voice.

"By the time I realized how long I was awake, the sun was up."

Alfred groaned, fixing his cufflinks when Elizabeth turned to him. "Has he been sleeping otherwise?"

"S'far as I know."

Bruce interrupted, "I have. No offence, Ms. Sorkin, but this has nothing to do with my sleep."

"Only it does, you wide-eyed little-"

"-Alfred!" Elizabeth wasn't afraid to raise her voice at the man. It was time he started controlling himself. Maybe she should work on his anger. "This  _is_ about your sleeping, so long as you  _forget_ to sleep, Bruce." She paused, thinking of how to make this hit home. "You want to be at your brightest, hm? Well, how do you expect to find some kind of clue when you haven't slept?"

Bruce gently grabbed the tea from the tray. "You're right."

"Good. Now," Elizabeth reached for her notebook, removing a stack of papers, "I want you to start working on this." She handed it to him, "I have to speak with Alfred for a moment, but I'll be back and we can start discussing this." She pointed to the paper, and then turned toward the butler who looked confused. He led her to the kitchen, "Alfred, I mean no harm to this…delicate…system you have settled in this house, but you cannot keep letting your anger get the better of you, especially not right now."

"I beg your pardon?" there was an edge to his voice again.

"That, right there." She pointed. "Bruce is grieving – in whatever way he can, and your constant buggering isn't helping one bit. So lay off."

Alfred's face grew red. "Do not, for one moment, think that you can strut in here with your psych degree and flip this whole household on its head. We've a  _system_."

Elizabeth didn't back down. "I'm not asking for major changes, Mr. Pennyworth, I'm asking for a little leniency – compassion, perhaps. So stow this hot-headed-butler M.O. and let me do my job."

This time, she didn't let him think up a response. Her heels slightly clicked against the tile until they met the hardwood of the study. She closed the door then made her way over to where Bruce sat at the large desk. He looked like a little boy playing with daddy's things.

Though she smiled at him, she felt a sense of disappointment when he said, "I don't think your assignment will help me."

Elizabeth grabbed the papers and slowly flipped through them, discovering that he hadn't filled out a single answer. "Oh? Why's that, Bruce?"

"They have nothing to do with grieving." He quipped. "Isn't that what you're here for?"

She lowered herself into the chair opposite of his. "I'm here to make things a little bit easier for you. If that's helping you with grief, okay. If that's giving you advice, or helping you with your case, or even getting your mind off of your troubles; that's fine by me. But this is the first stepping stone. This is how I get to know my patients, Bruce." She presented him with the packet once again. "Maybe it's a little unorthodox, but I find that it eases us into a position where you can be completely open with me."

Bruce looked over the questions again. "What if I don't have an answer?"

"That's alright," Elizabeth shrugged. "we don't always have to have an answer, Bruce." She paused. "I'll tell you what," her hand reached to grab her notebook. "I have another. I'll do this tonight and bring it back when we meet next. Then we can talk about our answers, so it's not just me getting to know you. Alright?"

He nodded. "Yes. I'd like that." He placed his packet on top of the stacks of articles. "Are you serious that you'll help me on this case?"

"Well, I don't know how much help I could possibly be, but I can try." Quickly, he presented her with an article and a blurry black and white photograph.

"Read this and tell me if you think he fits the description." While she read, Bruce began answering some of the questions on her packet. After finishing the article, she looked up. "Well?"

"Bruce, I don't understand why you want this connection to be made. Do you suspect that he did this awful thing to your family?"

"Well, maybe," He nodded firmly. "The more people I can piece together, the greater my repertoire is on the criminals of Gotham." He paused. "You don't think this guy could have been from another city?" his eyes were wide as if discovering this possibility for the first time.

"I think," Elizabeth breathed. "you should focus on Gotham first. Then take it from there."

"Yes, very well." As he spoke, Elizabeth watched him breathe and take control of his emotions once again. It'd only been a few days that she'd been in the same room as the boy, but she could already tell that Alfred was to blame for a majority of his mannerisms.

The rest of the day consisted of lunch, more files, Alfred glaring at her like she was the most foul thing in the room, more files, a few questions about his parents, and – oh, yeah, - more files.

Elizabeth was exhausted on her way home, but she knew she had work to do before her company came. She'd woken up early before work just so she could get the kitchen and eating area set up. It was good enough for company – table with a few decorations, chairs with their cushions tied on perfectly, plates and bowls in the cupboards, silverware in the drawer, a few necessities on the counter, ready for cooking, and some wine glasses (was Harvey a wine guy?) plus regular glasses just in case he was not.

The other rooms still looked like a mess, and she hadn't gotten up in enough time to go grocery shopping, so she made a quick stop before making her way home. Ingredients for the meal were bought, rolls and butter, wine, beer, salad, croutons, dressing – the works.

She'd gotten it home and was just stepping into the apartment, tossing her keys down and trying to balance the bags, when a voice came, making her jump, "We can't keep meeting like this." Harvey stood in the doorway; suit jacket off and replaced with a brown leather, tie loosened around his neck, hat on, and a belt with tools in his right hand. "Here, lemme take that."

"Nope!" she b-lined into the kitchen, listening to him close the door as she set the bags on the table. "That was the whole point of last night, remember? You helped me carry things, saved my ass from some creepy man, I bought you booze, you know..."

"Hey, I said I'd pay." He stood in the doorframe of her kitchen now, watching her pull things from the bags and put them away. "What is all that?"

"I told you I'd make you dinner, didn't I?"

"Yeah, but I thought we were just…" he sighed, letting his hand hit his thigh with a loud  _twap._  "I told ya you're hard to read."

Elizabeth paused, chuckled, then held up a wine bottle, "Well, here, lemme spell it out for you." Her heels clicked on the tile as she walked to him, "I bought wine and beer, ingredients for stuffed shells, and we're having dinner. Here. Now, wine?" he didn't break gaze from her, just tried to fight back a smile, "Good. Take your coat off, stay a while." Harvey couldn't help but watch her as she made her way back over to the counter. Did she always wear dresses?

He slung the belt over the end of a chair and slipped his leather off, draping it on the back. "How's the rich kid?"

She opened the wine and was in the middle of pouring the second glass when she sighed and shook her head. "I don't know, complicated…I got into it with the butler today."

"You know, that's the opening sequence of a handful of pornos." He couldn't help himself; she walked right into that one. Almost as soon as he'd said it, he wished he hadn't. She was probably going to slap him. Instead, a smirk lifted the corners of her mouth when she walked the glasses over to him.

"You would know, huh?" she laughed. "I think he's pissed at me for opening my mouth." Her cheeks turned red and she pursed her lips. "Oh,  _God_!"

Harvey laughed boisterously. "Ahh, there you go!" He took the wine. Normally, he was  _not_ a wine man, but the lady bought it for them, how could he refuse? After sipping it, he decided he'd had worse wine in his life. This was woodsy, not fruity whatsoever, and the kick to it was strong. "What'd ya do to piss him off so much?"

"Told him to stop yelling at Bruce." She paused. "Okay, maybe I told him to 'stow the hot-headed-butler M.O.' and let me do my job." It sounded ten times worse when she repeated it.

Harvey chuckled. "You did  _not_. Oh ho ho, you are royally on the shit list in that house." Elizabeth sighed. "A little fire in you, huh, Lizzy?"

The short woman nodded, noticing the nickname he'd given her and deciding that she liked it. She raised her glass and clinked it against his then they drank. "Now I have to start on dinner."

"Right. What'd you want me to do? You know, I'm such a handy guy." Though it wasn't really true. Yes, he knew a thing or two, but he was hoping it was nothing too serious. Making a fool of himself the second time they were alone together was not his idea of fun.

She smiled. "Sure you are." They set their glasses down and she led him into the living room, "I marked where I want a few pictures to hang. I just need to put a few nails in and hang them up, then put a cabinet up in the bathroom. The fan in the guest room is nearly falling from the ceiling. Once I put food in the oven, I'll come help."

Harvey eyed the marks on the walls. "You're really making this place home, aren't you?"

She looked confused. "Yes?"

Harvey shrugged. "No judgment, yanno, I just…didn't."

The only time he was home was when he was sleeping. If he slept. His place was a shithole compared to Elizabeth's; a bed, a couch, a few chairs and tables, minimum kitchen utensils, no pictures on the walls. He didn't put down another coat of paint anywhere – unlike Lizzy seemed to be planning, judging by the paint cans in the corner of the foyer. It wasn't really 'home'; nowhere  _felt_ like home, not for a while. He was always too buried in his work, too busy with cases or alcohol or women's bedrooms, between women's thighs – there was a good month where he slept at his place  _maybe_ four times. With Jim running his ass everywhere lately, work took over everything.

"I don't mean to be a bother, Harvey. I'm sorry."

"What!? No, ma'am, if there's anything I can do to make Gotham less crappy for another citizen, I'm on the case."

Elizabeth couldn't help but smile at that. Sure, Gotham was a Hellhole most of the time, but so far, her time back was better than when she lived there originally. The two of them split up to do their work. Quick hands fiddled with the stuffed shells while a hammer pounded nails into place.

Harvey liked this place, he decided. Maybe it was all the work she'd already put into it, but honestly it was a nice touch. The large windows facing the street had curtains neatly strung, the living area seemed almost completely done, and the kitchen was nice. Harvey wandered down the hall, taking in the spare room with the falling ceiling fan. The bathroom was small, but there was a bathtub with a shower spigot. It took him no time to hang the cabinet. Lizzy's room had boxes piled, but the bed was neatly dressed and made. A few simple dressers and cabinets were set up, and a full-length mirror stood in the far corner of the room. The hallway leading back to the kitchen had marks for nails as well. When he leaned in the doorway, he watched her cook – ingredients spewed over the counter, hair up in a bun, barefoot and focused. She was quick, just bending down to put the pan in the oven when he caught himself staring. After setting it in, she pulled back her hand with a sharp intake of breath, closed the door, then began running water over her finger.

"That's why most people wear mitts."

She didn't startle this time, just looked under her lashes at him. "Well, I haven't learned." She turned the water off, dried with a towel, and set a timer. "Okay, gimmie that hammer."

"What? I've got this." He straightened.

"At least let me help." She slid it from his belt and held her hand out for a few nails, which he grudgingly gave to her.

"Want me to work on the fan?" he followed her into the hall, watching as she lined up the nail and hammered it perfectly. She did this three more times with the other marked spots, then handed her equipment back to him.

"I'll help."

So there they were, him on a step stool, her in her bare feet on the edge of the bed, holding the fan as he worked with the wires, pushing them back in the hole, then taking his drill and bolting the cap back into the ceiling. It was a quick fix, but it needed two people, she was right.

"Alright," he stepped down, raising a hand to take hers as she jumped off the bed. Her dress floated around her until she landed. "Anything else you need?"

"I think that's it," she paused. "Harvey, seriously, thank you so much. You have no idea how much I appreciate it."

He raised his hands in defense, "Nothing to get worked up about. That's what friends are for," They made their way to the living area and he unclasped his belt, setting it down in the foyer. Elizabeth was grabbing pictures and paintings and hanging them on the nails he'd just placed. "You waste no time."

"I'm tired of trying to get everything set up, it's exhausting." She laughed, straightening a watercolor painting. The timer went off in the kitchen. "You're hungry, right? I kinda may have went a little overboard."

She scurried off to the kitchen. The pan was out of the oven before Harvey got there, a delicious smell hung in the air. She urged him to sit while bringing him the same brand of booze he ordered at the bar. Their wine still sat on the table and she moved them when placing down the plate of rolls and butter. She lifted three large stuffed shells for Harvey and sat them down before him, then lifted herself two.

"This looks amazing, Lizzy." He grabbed his napkin and set it on his lap.

"It's the least I can do." They began eating. Harvey helped himself to another two shells and was shocked to see eight more in the pan.

"Shit, you weren't kidding." This woman cooked enough for a five-person household.

"I know. Take some home with you, please." She swallowed down more wine.

Harvey scratched at the back of his neck as he sat down, "I'm…usually not home."

"Oh," she paused, nodding. "I understand."

Well, fuck, now he felt like a scumbag. "Tell you what, I'll take some with me and have it for lunch tomorrow – there's a microwave in the break room, I'm sure a doofus like myself could learn its ways."

She made him up a plate then washed the dishes as he swapped stories with her.

"No, no, Jim is a piece of work. He's been coming in here, causing commotion and stirring up our delicate system we have in place."

"You mean corruption."

"Call it what you will. He can't seem to get the fact that if he pisses off the wrong guy," Harvey swiped a hand in front of his neck. "it could end him."

"So a newbie comes in here and thinks he can change things; feels almost invincible, like nothing bad will happen to him." She shook her head, drying her hands after placing the last dish in the drain and leaning back against the counter. "Do you think he'll break down eventually?"

Harvey eyed her for a moment, thinking back to when he was new. "Yeah." He finished his beer, still tasting metal in the back of his throat. Years on the force did something to guys who wanted to be heroes. "Eventually." Before Lizzy could respond, his phone started ringing. He pulled it from his pocket and flipped it open, "Yo." At this, Elizabeth shook her head with a laugh. Who answered their phones like that? "Yeah, I'm…again? No kidding." He looked up at her, "Be there soon." And he slammed his phone shut, "Damn, I'm sorry, Cap just called; there's an issue with some perp Jim knows – of course." He stood, slinging his jacket over his shoulders and sliding his hands in the sleeves. His fingers dug in the pocket for his badge, which he secured on his belt as Elizabeth grabbed the plate she'd prepared for him.

"Anything serious?" she handed it over after he haphazardly looped his tool belt over his shoulder.

"Nah. No worries." He took the plate from her then walked to the door, she followed. "Just another day in the life. Listen, this was really nice. Thank you."

A blush appeared on her cheeks, "No, thank  _you_ , Harv."

He reached to unlock then open the door and took a glance back at her. What was he supposed to do, kiss her? She looked away from him, then back up just as he leaned down. Harvey placed a soft kiss on her cheek, faintly touching the corner of her mouth.

"Goodnight, Lizzy."

"G'night, Harv."

He left, the only thought crossing his mind:  _Twenty-eight, Harvey; she's_ twenty-eight _._


	6. Chapter 6

How had she been so stupid? Harvey probably thought it was a date. Now that she thought about it, it made sense. The cooking, the helping out around the house; it was all so domestic. He probably wanted to run. Hell,  _she_ wanted to run. This was not what she'd planned whatsoever. This was what friends did, right?

Yet, he kissed her. Well, her cheek, but still. Though, Harvey was a gentleman. Maybe that's how he parted with all of his friends.

As always, Elizabeth was overthinking. This was nothing. Harvey wasn't interested; the kiss was just a courtesy; she had nothing to worry about.

Heat rose to her cheeks at the thought of how close their mouths were. He was so scruffy and warm.

_Stop. This is what you ran from. This is what you're_ running  _from. Nothing good can come from such infatuation. Get yourself back in the game. Get your shoulders back, head up. A crush could ruin the delicate threads you're weaving,_ Elizabeth thought. Perhaps she was right. This "new start" of hers couldn't get romantic. That wasn't an option right now.

To clear her head, she sat down to a cup of cocoa and began working on the questions she'd discuss with Bruce in the morning.

* * *

It was nine o'clock when Elizabeth walked through the front door, sliding her coat off. Footfalls sounded through the hall and Elizabeth turned to greet whoever it was.

"Good morning, Ms. Sorkin," Alfred began, raising his chin and looking down at her,  
"I would like to apologize; I've discovered that you're right; the yelling must cease."

Elizabeth smiled at this, "I'm glad we agree."

He nodded stiffly, "It's just…" he lowered his voice and took a step closer to her. She could feel his body heat, "The little buggar has a burn on his hand from a few weeks ago, when I called you. I wasn't planning on fulfilling Thomas' wishes, until I became aware that I can't do this on my lonesome."

"What burnt him?"

Alfred took a step back now, "Candle. He decided to test his pain tolerance. The boy's been droning on about wanting to improve himself in ways that are a bit outlandish."

"Outlandish? That's a step in the right direction." At her statement, Alfred raised a brow, "Bruce is having difficulty thinking abstractly; his thoughts are very calculated – which is good – but I know we can get him a little…er…looser?" she paused and added, "Has the NSSI stopped?"

"The  _what?_ "

Silently, she scolded herself for using psychology terminology. She'd been so used to speaking with those in her field, she often forgot what was common knowledge and what was not. "Sorry. Uh…self-harm, I suppose would make more sense to you. Has he done any more burning? Or cutting, tearing, maybe even biting at his own skin?"

"Bloody…- no!"

"Good." She brushed passed him and found her way to an empty study. Confused, she walked back to Alfred, "Any idea where he'd be?"

The butler's eyes narrowed and he hurriedly dismissed himself. Elizabeth wandered into the large kitchen and found herself something to drink. She was pouring some lemonade when Alfred entered.

"He's sleeping." He nearly groaned, but straightened almost instantly, "Probably needs it."

She stayed with Alfred in the kitchen; him reading the morning paper, her working on some paperwork for Bruce, filling out more of her own packet, and coming up with activities they could work on.

"Do you ever relax?" the question left her mouth before she realized it.

Alfred didn't move the paper so she didn't know if she'd aggravated him or not.

"I enjoy good music after dinner and a cup of green tea.  _That_ is my form of relaxing."

"No, I mean around Bruce. Do you always act so stiff and proper?" Finally he looked at her, "I mean no disrespect."

"Yes, well, rather rude – if not  _bold_  – of you, isn't it?" when she didn't reply, he spoke again, "I suppose I've grown accustomed to a specific regimen. Never really thought about it being stiff."

"Well, you aren't just his butler anymore, are you?"

His eyes locked to hers, "If I may be audacious, I believe you were hired to counsel Master Bruce, not me."

They heard footsteps in the hall. Half expecting Alfred to stand and clasp his hands behind his back, Elizabeth raised an eyebrow at him, waiting for him to move. Not an inch; nor did he greet the boy. She marked it as progress.

"Elizabeth, I apologize for missing our meeting time." Bruce's eyes were glassy and his hair stuck up randomly. "May we start now? I've finished the packet."

"No apology necessary, Bruce, you need your sleep. Where would you like to work today?"

The rain yesterday had made the porch slightly damp, but Alfred was busy drying off the chairs and putting down cushions as Elizabeth gathered her things. Bruce watched the sky quietly.

"I like it when you're here." He stated, "It breaks up my day quite nicely."

"Well, I enjoy being here, Bruce. It's always good company." She placed a hand on his shoulder which made him look at her and smile.

"Ready for you." Alfred returned with the wet towel, "Anything else?"

Bruce looked between the two adults, "Join us when you're free, please, Alfred. I'd enjoy hearing your answers to some of these 'getting-to-know-you' questions that Elizabeth and I will be discussing." He exited and took a seat on one of the chairs outside.

Alfred stood, mouth agape, then caught Elizabeth smiling at him and regained composure. "Right. Well, I'll be out soon."

She laughed lightly and exited as well, setting herself in the two-seater across from Bruce. "Let's start going over some of these, hm? Would you like to begin, or me?"

"Ladies first."

She nodded, eyeing down at the plethora of questions on the packet. They ranged from fun to personal, "The one place I would like to visit for a summer would be Edinburgh, Scotland."

"That sounds nice. I've never been." He glanced at his packet, "I wrote down Cancun." Bruce stated, "If there was something I could change about myself, it would be my weakness."

"Why do you say you're weak?"

Bruce stared at her, "When my parents were killed, I did nothing. I should have gone after the guy. I should have  _tried_."

"Things like that happen so fast, even if you were trained to fight, it may not have registered that quickly; and shock has something to do with reaction." She tried to reason with him.

"I disagree." He left it at that, "It's your turn now."

Elizabeth made a note in the margin of her packet near that question about Bruce's beliefs. "If I could start over, what would I do differently: I would have left my last relationship sooner."

Bruce seemed to consider this, but moved on to another question. Elizabeth let out a breath she didn't realize she was holding. "What drives me to do better at things is the knowledge that someone I love could be in danger again."

Before Elizabeth could voice her opinion, Alfred came out and unbuttoned his jacket then sat beside her. "Well, now, what questions am I expected to answer?" Elizabeth handed over her packet and he noticed the chill bumps on her arm from the strong wind. "Ms. Sorkin, you're clearly a bit chilly." He slid his jacket off of his shoulders and draped it over hers. "There you are, miss." She warmed almost instantly and felt a bit transparent when Alfred read over her answers. "Do I just pick one?" A pause, "Well, when I was a lad, I wanted to be a soldier."

"You became that." Bruce nodded, "That's inspiring, Alfred."

"Thank you, Master Bruce."

Elizabeth peeked at the paper in his hands, "Every day, I try to do something that scares me or makes me nervous."

"Why?" Bruce questioned.

"It cultivates growth. If I have less fear, I'm less likely to be immobilized by it." She stated, "Do you do things like that, Bruce?"

"Well, no." she could almost see the gears turning in his head, "But I'd like to." This. This was what she'd been pulling for all afternoon; the outlandish thinking that Alfred had mentioned, "I want to make myself stronger – mentally, physically, emotionally…can you help me with that?"

"That's what I'm here to do, if that's what you desire."

Alfred made a face, "Bruce, don't you think you should focus on your studies? School might be a good place to begin."

"I don't  _want_ to go to school, Alfred, it's a waste of my time." It was the first time in a while that Elizabeth noticed his age. The air about him was always so much more mature than most his age, and she couldn't help the smile that appeared on her face after his outburst.

"Well I bloody think not," came the accented voice, but he thought better of it, glancing sideways at Elizabeth, "Please, Master Bruce, consider it."

Elizabeth was quick, "Tell you what, Bruce, if you start at school, I can be here when you get home and we can make an action plan based on whatever you want to study."

"But I'd have to go to school?"

She nodded, "At least try it. You should get to know kids your age."

"Don't you want friends?" Alfred interjected.

Bruce thought, "I have friends. You are my friends. Detective Gordon is my friend."

_How did he know Jim Gordon? Wasn't that Harvey's partner?_  "Friends your own age." She suggested, "Just try it?"

The adults gave the boy a moment of consideration before he finally nodded, "Okay."

Another hour passed of progress-making. Alfred went in to start dinner a half hour before Elizabeth's shift was over. When they finished, she entered the manor and locked the door, watching Bruce race back to the study. Alfred's jacket still on her shoulders, she eased her way in the kitchen.

"Smells amazing." She complimented, watching the butler stir a pot of rice. An apron covered his spotless ensemble.

"Would you like to stay for dinner?" he asked, "I've made more than enough for the two of us."

"I was just going to warm up some leftover stuffed shells…" Elizabeth muttered, thinking of the excess she'd made last night. Harvey could eat, but she'd gotten carried away apparently –even with him taking shells with him. Had he really brought them for lunch today? She needed to stop thinking about it.

"Consider it a 'thank you'." He stopped for a moment to look at her, "I doubt Master Bruce would have agreed to school without your help."

"Glad I could do that."

"I've called Brentwood Academy; he starts soon."

Elizabeth slipped off the jacket and neatly placed it on the back of a chair as she neared the stove to help stir the vegetables in another pot. "How do you think he'll handle it?"

Alfred instantly grimaced, "Not too sure. What do you think?"

"Kids are mean." She spoke, "I think it'll be tough on him, but what other choice is there? Try it, see how it goes."

Alfred considered this for a few minutes, listening to the timer beep to notify him that the rice was done. "I think that is a very good suggestion, Ms. Sorkin."

"Alfred, please, call me Lizzy already." She laughed.

As she set the table, she couldn't help but smile; she seemed to be loosening up this home marginally and it was refreshing. Too much work and stress was never good on a person. She considered telling that to Harvey as well.

Dinner was amazing. Alfred made rice, picante sauce, grilled chicken, and vegetables. It felt utterly domesticated. When that realization struck, it was the second time in two days that Elizabeth had the urge to run. After they finished, Elizabeth said her goodnights and walked out to her car. The weekend was much-needed. Though she enjoyed her job, some breathing room was necessary. Too much too soon wouldn't help her in that adjustment period. Her apartment was slightly more put together after Harvey's help, and being able to finally look around the room to see how complete everything looked was a blessing.

At home, her eyes drifted to the answering machine, hoping for a message. Nothing. She wasn't surprised. She'd scared him off. That was the price one paid for being the one putting in all the effort. Honestly, Harvey probably had girls fawning over him. It was the personality. That suave, seductive tone of voice, the way he carried himself; not to mention that smell of leather, cigarettes, and whiskey.

Shaking it off, she decided she better get to work. So she started with her bedroom and by the time midnight came, every room was finished. She had to force her body to get up and take a shower before falling into bed.

Yet, sleep did not stay long.

The night terrors were back.

Elizabeth could busy herself during the day. It was fine. When sleep came, they would come and go. Sometimes it was just a shadow in the midst of a pleasant dream. She could handle that. Then some nights were like these.

Hands ripping at her flesh, dragging their nails into her skin; dark eyes and that  _smile_. Memories of bruised knees and bloodied elbows: cuts and scuffs and migraines. The fear of being found out, the fear of being looked over. They wouldn't believe it, they wouldn't believe it, they would  _never_ believe her. But they did.

Elizabeth was hollow now, sitting on the edge of the bed with her head in her hands. A sheen of sweat covered her body, no tears fell. She was used to this. She'd left to escape. She'd left to get better.

Maybe she could. A glimmer of hope came with the rising sun. A shot in the dark, a squint of bright light.

There was no going back to sleep – there was no going back.


	7. Chapter 7

Five arrests.  _Five_. In two hours. Jim was on a roll and Harvey was just trying to make it through the shift. Friday came and went; he got maybe two hours of sleep, and was back on the grind. The coffee he'd bought Gordon was dropped on his way to bringing it to him; he'd somehow managed to miss his white shirt with the spill.  _Too clumsy, Harv. Get it together._

Kids were going missing and it was a day.

Kids, man.  _Kids_. Homeless, dirty kids, but still kids. Jim needed his help getting them out of that Hellhole. That basement was so musty and dark – he'd almost tripped over one of the little dudes on the ground, holding their side where blood gushed out of a bullet wound. But they got them. All of them. Jim had been right after all. Damn, he hated when Jim was right after all…

Then there was that smart ass chick – a little one. Meddling her way in with Jim, trying to appeal to his hopeful nature and get on his good side. He broke in thirty seconds. Something about knowing information he needed, something about seeing death. Harvey hadn't heard it all, but he'd heard enough on his walk by. Hell, he'd heard enough with the rest of his perps over the years, trying to meddle with his mind and get him to let 'em off easy – obvious tactic. When the young girl looked at him, he froze mid-step, but shook it off and walked away. That look; those cold eyes, the hard jaw; she  _had_ seen things, no doubt. The thought of what it'd done to her gave him chills. Kids, man, kids.

Just a drive by Finnigan's. Just a look-see. If it were busy, he'd go home. Have a beer. There had to be some left from that case he bought the other week.

Four cars. Fuck.

He went in. One drink, that's it. He didn't feel like sleeping in the damn car again. It was cold tonight. But one drink became two, became  _several_. And soon, he was sloshed.

It was close to ten at night when Harvey stumbled up the flight of stairs and landed flat on his face near the top. He felt blood pooling around his forehead, but brushed himself off and tottered toward the door. A few gasps for breath left him while he placed his arm above his head on the doorframe. With his palm, he pounded on the dark wood.

Nothing.

Why did time seem to stall while he was wasted and blurry, but flew during his drinking spree? Damn it.

Roughly, he pushed against the doorframe and stumbled back a bit. Well, Plan B. He couldn't drive, that was for damn sure. His place was…probably a fifteen minute walk, sober, from here. What now? He searched his pockets for his cell phone, tempted to call Jim when cold hands touched his.

"Harvey, are you alright?"

A dumb smile lit his face up, "Now I am! Hey, how are ya!?"

Elizabeth sighed, looking around the hall. He was so loud! "Come in."

One hand held his cell phone, the other was grasping at her fingers. She was so tiny. And cold.

"Do you just sit around here holding ice cubes? Jesus, woman!"

She closed the door, took his hat, and set it on the table in the foyer. "You're drunk."

"Why aren't you?" he quipped, trying to get out of his leather coat.

"Harvey, it's Sunday night. Don't you have work in the morning?"

"Pff, probably!"

She took his phone and helped him out of his coat. His gun was still in its holster and he noticed the way she eyed the straps of the leather. This had been the second time he'd noticed her reaction to the holster.

"You got a thing for this?" he joked, slipping his thumb under the leather straps. She blushed; he'd actually made her blush, "You do!"

She cracked a smile, "Harvey," he stumbled a bit when she stepped closer to him, "What'd you do?" her thumb touched his forehead. He'd almost forgotten about the mishap on the stairs. The chill of her hands stung.

"I may or may not have fallen up the stairs."

She sighed and pulled his forearm, leading him to the kitchen, and then forcing him into a chair. "You need to be more careful." She returned with a bowl of warm water and a towel. He watched as she dipped the end of the towel into the water then raised it to his forehead.

"I was fine." He defended, trying to pull back.

She narrowed her eyes, "Harvey, stop. This'll be so much faster if you let me." He returned her glare until a phone rang. Without removing the towel, Elizabeth set down the bowl and reached for her phone on the table. She held it between her shoulder and ear, "Hello?" the cut was a little sore as she pat it periodically. Her movement stopped, but the room was still spinning for Harvey. He caught the wide-eyed look on her face, "How deep?" she stood from her crouched position, tossed the towel in the bowl on the table, and Harvey heard the water splash out. "No, that's…just clean it. Is it still bleeding?" she paused again and Harvey tried to stand, but her finger pressed to his forehead.

"Ow."

She glared at him again, "Okay, pressure, then wrap it once it stops…I know! Jesus, I'm just trying to help." She paused, "Is he going to do it again?" Harvey poked his finger into the bowl of water, watched the ripples wave out, "Okay." She hung up, shaking her head.

"Somethin' wrong, Ohio?"

She looked shell-shocked, "Bruce Wayne started cutting himself."

Harvey made a face, "Why?"

"It's a way of coping, a lot of adolescents and teens do it; you know, to get their mind off their troubles? He burned himself the other day, and now this." With a shake of her head, she finished cleaning Harvey's cut then grabbed a thin band aid and applied it.

"Shit, kids these days…" Harvey shook his head, closing his eyes tightly and trying to shake away the images of those kids – bloody, dirty, haunted – but it was fruitless. "I need more alcohol." He stood, swaying and unconsciously reached out for her shoulder. Surprisingly, she didn't falter and stood strong against him.

"I'm going to have to deny you that one. How 'bout a water?" she grabbed at his hand, walked him to the counter, then opened the fridge, "Do you want anything to eat?"

"What!? No." his arms were across his chest, gun still in its holster.

She stared at him, handing him the water bottle. The way his eyes didn't focus, she knew how far gone he really was, "Too bad. You're getting toast."

Harvey raised his hands then slapped them back against his thigh with an eye roll. "Jesus.  _Fine._ "

It took her no time to make French toast and Harvey was once again fascinated by how expertly her hands moved.

"Harvey, I'm worried about you." She spoke in a small voice when the food was done. Didn't look up. Didn't act like she'd wanted him to hear it. Yet, he had.

Even in his drunken state, Harvey felt a pang of guilt. He lowered his head, "Lizzy…" she looked up at that, "No, no…" he wrapped his arms around her from behind, resting his chin on her shoulder. "It's been a rough week." He admitted. "Been a really, really rough week." And he'd almost told her the whole thing. Almost told her about the hollow and the nightmares – the drinking to cope, the  _fear_.

With his chest pressed against her back, Elizabeth felt slightly on edge, but she took it as his way of comforting her, and gave him a few seconds more before reaching for a plate and lifting his food.

There was a loud knock at the door, which made her jump and pull away from Harvey completely, almost toppling the unsteady man over.

She hurriedly grabbed the syrup from the cupboard below the sink before setting it beside the plate on the counter. "Silverware's in the drawer in front of your hips." She called over her shoulder while rushing to the door. When she opened, she was surprised to see a very flustered, irate Alfred and a sullen Bruce. "Gentlemen." She greeted, silent for a second as she eyed Bruce's bandaged arm, "Please, come in."

As soon as she stood to the side, Harvey stumbled in the doorway of the kitchen, plate in hand, full mouth, "Liz, this is  _fantastic!_ "

Alfred froze, seemingly having intruded on Elizabeth's private affairs. He was half tempted to grab Master Bruce by the shoulders and make a b-line for the door when he noticed it was Jim Gordon's partner – in a very drunken state.

"Well, seems we've caught you at a bad time."

Elizabeth's cheeks reddened, trying to explain, but failing to find the words. Whatever Alfred thought was going on, it was unlikely she would change his judgment. "This is fine, what can I do for you?"

"Detective?" Bruce asked, peering around Elizabeth's hip at the drunken man.

"Who wants to know?" he quipped, stuffing more toast in his already-full mouth, "Oh! The Wayne kid. What's happening?"

Bruce nodded, expression confused, "I'm well, thank you." He began examining the house.

"I  _was_ expecting you to talk some sense into the boy, but clearly  _you're_ the one who need gain sense." Alfred snapped in a whisper.

Anger filled her gut, "Excuse me? Just who do you think you are, barging in here like this and judging my company? If you need something, shoot. Otherwise, the door's right behind you."

Harvey stuttered forward a step, narrowed eyes, his mouth a hard line, "S'there a problem here?" This guy already pissed him off.

"None at all, mate."

Elizabeth rolled her eyes and turned to walk toward Bruce. She rested a hand on the back of his neck and led him to the living room, "Bruce, Alfred called and told me what happened. I just saw you; you were doing so well."

"Yes." He sighed, "I…it's just that…" he looked at the ceiling, the carpet, the pictures Harvey helped hang – anywhere but at her, "I miss them." He lowered his head and pushed his palms into his eyes.

Elizabeth was on her knees beside the couch with him in seconds; grabbing onto his arm and pulling him into an embrace. Warm tears fell to her shoulders as he buried his face in her neck. She stared at the white wall, searching, searching, searching for something meaningful to say, but all words fell short. Mourning was a process that could not be eased by pretty sentences.

"Let it out." She hushed, feeling Alfred's eyes burning into her back. What he must think of her.

"I can't – I-I can't go back." Bruce's words were barely audible over his sobbing.

"Why's that?" her voice was mellow, soothing, smooth – counselor training paid off.

"I see them everywhere."

It was time she looked over her shoulder at Alfred who stood with his mouth agape, not even attempting to hide it this time. And Harvey, whose eyes were hard and knowing, a haziness still hanging above it all, but he was more coherent than she'd seen him all night.

"Where do you see them?"

"In my nightmares. In my memories. I don't sleep because they're there. They're in the manor or on the street with the man in the mask." He pulled away now so she could see his reddened face and swollen, bloodshot eyes. He wiped away his tears and revealed the bandage once again.

"Bruce, you can't do that. Never again."

"I know." He whined, "I was sorry as soon as I did."

"Did it hurt?" Harvey ambled over to the two of them, taking a seat behind Elizabeth. Alfred stepped forward, glaring at Harvey, feeling overly protective.

"No." he snapped, straightening, just like he did for every man he encountered. It was as if he felt obligated to keep up the Wayne name when he was around men. Women, he relaxed around. Elizabeth couldn't help but wonder if it had to do with the way Thomas Wayne interacted with his son – he learned it from somewhere.

"Really?" Harvey raised a brow, setting his plate on the end table. "Somehow, I doubt that." His voice was still slightly slurred.

Bruce looked away, "I'm not going back there."

"Like Hell." Alfred fumed, stepping a few feet closer to the boy. "You're coming back with me if I have to knock you unconscious and toss you in the car like a rag doll."

Elizabeth stood, turning her back on Bruce and stepping close to the butler, "What did I tell you about that anger? This is  _not_  the time to yell at him." She looked over at Bruce, "Night terrors are hard to get over – believe me. Your choices are either to stay here and go straight to bed, or go back home and sleep when Alfred catches you up."

Bruce narrowed his eyes, "Either way, I'm sleeping?"

"That's right." She noticed the way Harvey was watching her and it made her self-conscious, "Choose."

"He Bloody well won't." Alfred intervened, "This is  _no_ place for a lad to stay." He blatantly glanced at Harvey.

"Your choice." She shrugged, stepping closer to the couch, "I offered. You came here looking for help, this is what I'm giving you; time away to get your head on straight and time for Bruce to – hopefully – get a good rest."

"I'll stay." Bruce decided, "It might be good for my head to get away from home for one night. No arguing, Alfred – that's enough. You're showing Elizabeth unkindness."

Alfred's mouth dropped, but he closed it quickly, "Yes, Master Bruce."

"Now go home and sleep. I'll be ready tomorrow morning at ten."

"Yes, Master Bruce." Alfred huffed then turned to go, seeing himself out. What happened to the nice guy who offered his jacket the other day, Elizabeth wondered.

"The guest bedroom is down the hall and to the right." She spoke after Alfred slammed the door.

Bruce nodded, "Thank you." He began down the hall.

She spoke again, "And Bruce?" he stopped, "No more self-harm, or I'm taking to drastic psychiatric measures. You wouldn't like that."

"Yes, ma'am." He gave a small smile then went on.

As soon as he was gone, Elizabeth sighed loudly and fell back on the couch beside Harvey.

"Ready for that drink yet?" he pulled out his flask and wiggled it in front of her face. She glared, but snagged it from him and took a hefty gulp, "Atta girl." She gave it back and he sipped it to her dismay. "Well, if you keep talkin' to Jeeves like that, you're gonna get fired for sure." He quipped. There was a small silence as she looked at him, then her face broke into a grin and she pushed Harvey's arm. "What? S'true."

"Maybe." She could use more of that drink. She could use the rest of that bottle of wine on the counter, or the rum in the cabinet. Something, anything, to get her mind off everything. So she took to care taking. "You, sir, need to drink more water." She snagged the flask from him. "Do you need more food?"

"Shit, no. I need a nap." He leaned back, still feeling very drunk. "Maybe another bourbon."  _Lap dance wouldn't be bad either. Wouldn't complain…_

"Mmm, maybe not." Her hand worked at the shoulder straps and Harvey nonchalantly grinned. "You aren't sleeping in this, take it off."

"Ooh, yes ma'am." He saluted, drunkenly fighting to remove the holster. Her hands working at the straps made his mind travel to some impure things. She snagged the holster from him and set it in the foyer along with his hip flask. Harvey watched her go, wondering what she looked like in just his shirt.

_Drunken thoughts, Harvey. Not good._   _Just friends, remember?_

She fetched him another water and a blanket, then walked it back over to him.

The way his expression didn't even change made her aware that he was in his head somewhere, overthinking. His eyes looked dead, jaw was clenched tightly, cheeks slightly rosy from the drink.

Maybe it was the weight of knowing exactly what Bruce was going through with the night terrors, or the knowledge that this boy had seen so much in his young life, or maybe the hardened man sitting before her with memories only alcohol could tame, but she felt that weight. The weight that they warned her about in her graduate program – that you take on the burden of those you care for. It's common. It's happened to her before. She thinks she can help them – change them – make things  _better_. But in that, the weight was transferred to her. It was all on her, and she'd rather take it than watch someone else carry it.

Tears filled her eyes at the thought of unwrapping Bruce's bandages in the morning; the torn flesh, the raised redness, the dried blood. She'd seen  _that_ too many times with these kids. It was a fad, they thought, but the habit was staying. Self-harm had ended too many kids' lives when they cut too deeply, and she couldn't help but wonder what instrument Bruce chose to use to numb the horrors in his head. She knew what Harvey chose.

To each his own weapon, to each his own design, to each his own rock bottom.

She set the blanket down beside him, placed the water on the end table, handed him the remote for the TV.

"Keep it down so Bruce can sleep." She managed, finally getting a response from him.

"Will do." Harvey nodded.

She took another look at him, shook her head, "Goodnight." And walked away.

"Night." He called as she flicked off the lights.


	8. Chapter 8

The smell of coffee woke Harvey up. The TV that was on, last he remembered, was off now. How long had he slept? It was still dark out and he narrowed his eyes, straining to find a clock somewhere. 4:57. Staying there for a minute, he realized how fucked his back was for sleeping sitting up. He stood, cracked his back, then found his way into the kitchen. Lights were dim, coffee smelled strong. Elizabeth sat at the table, one hand knotted in her hair, the other holding the handle of a coffee mug.

Words left him. What was he supposed to say? 'Thanks for taking me in, things got too much for me last night?' And then he remembered the kid. The Wayne kid was probably still sleeping. Elizabeth must have been up for a while; her makeup was done and it looked like she managed to eat something before the coffee smell stirred Harvey awake.

She must have seen him in her peripheral, must have noticed that this hulk of a man was staring – mouth agape – at her. Her small hand wiped under her eyes quickly then she gazed up at him.

"H-Harv. I didn't know you were up."

"Is everything alright?" he drew closer, placed a hand on her shoulder. It hit him then. That butler was there last night. He remembered being patched up after his stumble up the stairs. That phone call. The wild look in her eyes when the Wayne kid came to her with a wrap around his arm. Harvey's fingers rubbed gently at her shoulder. "Shit, I'm sorry you had so much on your plate last night." And he meant it. He truly felt guilty for the position he put her in. "I should leave."

With one swift move, Lizzy grabbed his wrist and held it, "Please stay." Her voice was barely above a whisper. So he did. Poured himself some coffee, held his pounding head, sat in silence for a while. "What if I can't help him?" When he looked up, he noticed she'd been staring at him, "What if I can't stop him from hurting himself and he-? This'll be on me. That's my job to do damage control. What if-"

Harvey placed his mug on the table harder than he'd intended, "Well that's not gonna happen. I saw you two in there. Even a drunk mind can tell that you got through to him." She looked away and Harvey opened his mouth to speak again, but the boy was in the room.

"Elizabeth. Detective Bullock." The young man greeted.

Everything in Harvey wished the kid woulda slept longer. There were things he needed to say to Lizzy. Like, 'just how in the Hell can we know each other for such a short time, but feel like we've been conscious of each other for years?' And, 'I remember holding you last night and it's the first thing I've  _felt_ in a while.' But things would have to wait. Maybe it was for the best. Tell a gal somethin' like that, she'll be gone – fast.

"Bruce. It's awful early to be up." Elizabeth sat straighter, composed herself right before Harvey's eyes.

"I need your help." He raised his wrist.

They'd been on their way to the bathroom for damage control, as Elizabeth put it, when Harvey stumbled his way down the hall. He needed pain relievers. Something. Anything. Now. But he didn't ask when he got to the room. He didn't ask because Elizabeth was there, sitting on the edge of the tub, Bruce's hand in hers, peeling off the wrap. It looked like a mangled mess, even Harvey drew in breath. Though she was likely trained to keep a poker face, Harvey watched the emotion dance over her features. Tears prickled in her eyes, her free hand coming up to cover her mouth.

"Oh, Bruce." And she broke that barrier of doctor-patient. Her arms enveloped Bruce, careful not to hurt him, "Don't do this anymore."

"I won't. I promised. I won't." and they sat like that for a minute, Bruce repeating these words in loop.

Just as quickly as the moment began, Lizzy ended it. She wiped her eyes, pulled away, and began cleaning his wounds.

"Harvey Bullock to damage control." Harvey groaned, making himself known in the room.

A smile lifted her features, "Yes?"

"Pain killers. Got 'em?"

"Mirror cabinet, middle shelf, far left." She watched Harvey maneuver himself between Bruce and the sink and reach for the bottle. He opened it quickly, popping three out and swallowing them dry. "I advise you eat something."

He glared, but before he could say anything Bruce spoke, "I've heard bananas are good for hangovers." Harvey's glare intensified, but lingered over the boy now, "It's just a suggestion."

"I don't need food." Harvey sneered. He'd done this whole hangover thing time and time before. If he felt the need to eat, he would. Now? More coffee and more pain killers. It felt like a construction crew was working on his skull.

Bruce and Lizzy were giving each other a look as she finished wrapping him back up.

"He'll eat. I'll make him." Elizabeth shook her head, "Wanna help me with breakfast?"

To that, the kid nodded and Harvey kicked them out of the bathroom so he could take a leak. Before he returned to the kitchen, he splashed water on his face and held back the urge to vomit. Damn, it'd been a while since he'd eaten.

They made pancakes with bananas flecked in them.

He sat across from the kid, watched as he enjoyed the food, then looked up at Lizzy who set a heaping pile of them before him. Her hand found that spot on his neck, rubbing her thumb over it just like she'd done the first night they'd met. Harvey held back a groan.

"Fine, I'll eat." He grabbed a fork and the syrup.

She smiled, rubbed his shoulder, "That's all I wanted."

Lizzy was serving him the next plate pretty soon. Then he realized, "You need to eat."

"I'll be alright." She shook it off, "Not hungry anyway." But Harvey glared until she lifted herself some as well. "Fine. You win."

Bruce was eyeing them, which made Harvey feel transparent, "Hey, kid, how's the arm now that damage control helped?"

"It still hurts." He admitted, "But not bad."

"Alfred should take you to the hospital if the pain gets too bad. There are some deeper parts towards the ends that they might suggest stitches for."

"No." he answered very quickly, "I mean, I'll be okay."

"Liz, mind if I shower?" Harvey pointed over his shoulder.

He watched her breathe in, "No, go ahead." He bit back a smirk.

Her shower was spotless. A rack held soaps, shampoos, conditioners. He got out smelling like mango, but the water was hot and the towel was soft so he couldn't complain. Had to wear yesterday's clothes, though, and he knew that he wasn't going to drive back to his place to change. Hell no. Who cares?

"-you could teach me?" Harvey had opened the door to let the steam out. Bruce and Lizzy's conversation reverberated off the hall walls while he dressed.

As he clasped his belt buckle and threw his shirt over his shoulders, he heard Lizzy reply, "Well, Alfred might have a problem with it."

"We could convince him to teach me, too. He's a vet. He knows his stuff."

She laughed, "Easy there, you don't really think he's gonna let you, do you?"

"Well…no."

By now, Harvey's interest was piqued. "What'd I miss?" he entered the living room, fastening the last few buttons at the top of his shirt. Elizabeth's eyes trailed over the exposed skin, which made him smirk once again.

"Elizabeth is going to teach me self-defense."

Harvey raised an eyebrow, "That so?"

She shook her head, "I just said I  _know_ self-defense. Alfred won't let me, I'm sure of it."

"Then we'll lie." He spoke simply. Her eyes widened.

"I can't do that. Not now." She shook her head, "Bruce, don't even start." She held up her finger before he could protest.

"I understand." Bruce sighed, "I will ask Alfred soon."

As the boy entered the kitchen, Harvey smirked, "Self-defense, huh?"

"Daddy said I needed it." She shrugged, "And I did."

"You'll have to show me what you've got."

"What?" she snapped. Harvey nodded, moving his fingers in a 'come hither' motion. "I'm not playing."

"Come on. I've got work soon, it's gonna be such a downer. Just once." He pouted. Finally, she stood and shook her head. "Ok, so if I were to grab you…" he put his left hand on her shoulder. Instantly, she trapped his hand, used her right hand to push on the opposite side of his elbow, inward. Her left knee came up toward his gut, but she stopped herself before hurting him, " _Shit._ "

"Wasn't living in the best of neighborhoods in Ohio. I did what I could."

"Remind me not to piss you off." The fire in her was attractive. She just kept pulling tricks. What else was this girl capable of? Harvey wanted to find out.

"Well, I should get going to work."

"Oh, right." She nodded, seeming suddenly solemn. They walked to the door. Harvey put on his gun holster in silence, thinking about her attraction to this thing. When he looked up, she was staring, and quite obviously too.

"Thanks again." Harvey scratched the back of his neck after putting his hat on. Honestly, he wanted to push his luck. He was tempted to ask her what her kink was with the leather holster. He bit his tongue. "I'd promise this would be a one-and-done sorta thing, but, well…"

"I understand." And he knew she didn't. Had she ever stumbled to someone's house, completely sloshed? Actually, no, he didn't want to know. Then he'd start thinking of who it was and jealousy was a bastard – especially when he shouldn't be feeling it in the first place. "Can we talk again soon?"

This made Harvey pause. The look on her face screamed worry. The woman looked worn from last night. She should sleep. She should take the day and rest, but something told him she wouldn't, even had he suggested it.

"Yeah, alright."

She nodded stiffly then; watched his hand fumble for the doorknob and took it as a sign of a desperate escape. The other hand removed a pack of cigarettes from his jacket.

"Enjoy work." She spoke softly, biting her tongue instantly.  _Domestic of you. Stop,_ she told herself.

Harvey just smirked, grabbing a smoke from the pack and shoving it between his lips then returning the pack to his pocket.

"Good one, Ohio." He winked and walked out.

Before starting down the stairs, Harvey lit his cig, inhaling deeply, then taking the steps two-by-two.

"Mr. Bullock." That annoyed voice. Damn, this guy was everywhere.

"Hey, compadre." Harvey breathed the smoke toward his shoulder, away from the man.

Alfred narrowed his eyes at the scruffy detective.

"Sir, I am  _not_ impressed by you." He spoke flatly, "Elizabeth is a fine young woman and should be interested in men unlike you."

"Whoa, hold up, you think we're…" he made a face and held up his hands. "Uh, no."

"Please. Leaving with a cigarette in hand?" he shook his head, "That can only mean one thing. And with a lad in the house?" the man's face was red from his voice rising.

At the thought of it, Harvey felt chills.  _Had_ he and Lizzy done…something…he wouldn't be up and out that quick. These beautiful things take time, patience; a bit of snogging in the morning too, if she's a good woman – and she was.

"You have nothing to worry about." He continued down the stairs, but called over his shoulder, "Keep an eye on everything  _sharp_  in that mansion 'a yours, yeah, Jeeves?"

When Elizabeth heard yelling, she went to the door to open it. But it stopped just as soon as she entered the hall.

"Elizabeth." Alfred was not rested at all. His eyes were bloodshot and he seemed somehow more agitated than last night. The proper air about him was forgotten as he barged in the apartment to find Bruce.

"Alfred, what-"

He spun on his heels, stepped dangerously close to her, and narrowed his eyes, "You think you can shag under the same roof as your patient? Honestly, the  _gall!_ "

Last night was rude enough, but this was beyond her understanding. "I would  _never_."

"Man leaves here with a grin on his face, smoking a cigarette. I've been around long enough to know better."

And there Elizabeth was, ecstatic at the thought of Harvey smirking after all of this.

"Harvey and I are just friends. Nothing like that has happened, and  _were_ anything like that to happen, it would not be when Bruce was here. Alfred, you haven't known me that long, but do I seem like that type?"

The man's expression softened. "No." he paused, "I-I'm sorry. It's just…" When Elizabeth saw his tear-filled eyes, she pushed her annoyance at the situation behind her. "Master Bruce…"

She knew she shouldn't have – knew he would be uncomfortable – but, she pulled him into an embrace. The man stiffened, didn't return the hug, but didn't pull away either.

"I know. I'm worried too." She backed off, "He's been doing better this morning."

His eyes were dry then, stoic as usual. "S'that right?"

She nodded, "We made breakfast together and he ate it all. He's in the kitchen, now, actually."

When Alfred entered the kitchen, he was relieved to see the boy reading the morning paper – completely engrossed. Alfred hadn't slept. Hadn't eaten since the night before. He'd polished the silverware to keep his head back in it – cleaned the kitchen and the damn study. He laid down for an hour but sleep wouldn't come. All he could see was the boy clutching his bleeding wrist. Bruce was all he had. If something happened to him…

"Master Bruce. Don't you believe you've overstayed your welcome just a tad?" he forced a smile that read  _I'm sorry_.

The boy stood and embraced him tightly, burying his face into Alfred's suit jacket. Elizabeth watched the comfort flit across Alfred's face and he bent down to press his lips to the top of Bruce's head.

"I'm ready to go home." The boy said softly before pulling away. "Thank you for letting me stay."

As Bruce put his shoes on, Alfred spoke to Elizabeth, "Take the day off, Lizzy. You deserve it."

The nickname sounded foreign coming from his mouth. She liked the way it rolled off Harvey's tongue – liked the smirk he'd given her after he'd said it the first time. But the way Alfred said it was still so formal, so uncomfortable.

She gave him a smile, thanking him for the day off, then watching the two walk out. She knew she needed to get out there and make more friends in Gotham, but she felt like being a homebody. Today would be perfect, though, so she put on a sundress and headed out for the afternoon.

She visited a coffee shop where the lights were dim and the people were loud. The only seats were near a woman arguing with a man or a kid who looked like he should have been in school, not sipping a chai tea. Just before she went to leave, someone placed their hand on her lower back. She tensed. Hands balled into fists, teeth grinding.

"Miss? Would you like to take this seat?" the man's voice was collected and soothing, but gruff at the edge of each word. Slowly, she turned and came chest-to-face with a tall, pudgy man. "I was expecting a guest, but it seems like she isn't showing." He gestured to a table for two where a newspaper sat beside a black coffee.

"That's kind of you." She watched as he pulled a chair out for her. "Are you sure you don't mind?"

"If she shows, she can have my seat." He sat himself down across from her.

"Girlfriend?" she asked, setting her coffee down.

The man laughed, "Hardly. Boss." She couldn't help but stare at his chubby fingers and the rough, work-worn skin. "She's a very powerful woman." He added.

"What's your name?"

"Butch Gilzean, miss." He tipped his head, "And yours?"

"Elizabeth Sorkin." She smiled, "Thanks for offering up your table. This place is packed."

Butch was silent, his eyes moving over her features, "You aren't from around here, are you?"

She stopped, mid-sip of her coffee, "No. Not since I was a kid."

Butch nodded slowly, cryptically, "You came back?"

"Can't get rid of me."

Now she broke away from his gaze to look around at the people. Weren't these people supposed to be at work? Was she the only one who barely slept last night because a rich boy had nightmares so her boss gave her the day off? This was nice, relaxing amidst the cacophony. When she returned her attention to Butch, she noticed he was as engrossed with the paper as Bruce had been this morning. This, however, was a different headline. She found herself attempting to read the print upside down.

Butch looked up, smiled, "Can you believe this?" she just blinked at him. "Some punk taking out the corrupt of Gotham. Attached 'em to weather balloons." He shook his head, "There are easier ways to kill, Ms. Sorkin." The hollow of his voice gave her chills. She sat back in her seat, dug her nails into her palms.

_Don't think, don't think, don't think._

Heel clicks behind her cut through the noise of the patrons. Elizabeth meant to keep her eyes locked on Butch, but he was standing now and buttoning his suit jacket. She felt like a target – felt like if she didn't turn around then, her back was exposed for too long. As soon as she did, a beautiful, studious woman with a bored look on her face approached. Her dress was far too revealing for a simple coffee shop. _This must be his boss._

"Butch, how good of you to invite your girlfriend." Her voice was elegant, too.

"Fish, this is Elizabeth Sorkin. Liz, this is Fish Mooney – my boss." Came Butch's voice from behind her. He hadn't denied the dating thing, which made her uneasy. Butch was clearly not in control enough to correct her, or he would have.

She was slack-jawed for a moment, but composed herself quickly and stood, extending her hand gingerly. "Pleasure." She cooed, giving her a soft smile that just barely lit up her eyes.

Fish didn't extend her hand at first; her eyes were busy traveling across the length of Elizabeth, "Have we met before?" she finally shook her hand slowly.

"I would have remembered a woman like you. No, ma'am, we've not met."

"Liz is new in town." Came Butch's voice again.

"That so?"

Elizabeth pulled her hand away, noting the long, manicured nails. She blinked and swore she saw blood underneath; saw bits of flesh and Fish plucking the pieces of scalp and hair from victims.  _Run_. But another blink brought her back to the coffee shop – back to the revealing dress and the proper air about her.

"I should get going," she looked at the clock on the wall, "My lunch break is almost over. It was lovely meeting the both of you." She gave Butch a glance over her shoulder, picked up her coffee, and turned away, "See you around."

So her lack of sleep was giving her visions. Creepy, horror-movie visions, nonetheless. But, hey, that was just the mind playing tricks. She was sure Fish was a kind, gentle woman. Upon the slam of the door, Elizabeth took one last glance over her shoulder and saw both sets of eyes watching her on her way to her parking spot. She ducked down the wrong aisle and sprinted her way to her car, peeling out of the parking lot as soon as she could.

Her first reaction was to call Harvey.  _Call him and what?_  Tell him, 'hey, I'm a weak little girl who's afraid of her gut instincts?' or, 'I just met a woman who speaks like there's something dead and secretive burning her throat'? No. She would not. She could handle herself. And for all she knew, this was nothing. However, she took the most random route home and even pulled into the wrong driveway just in case she needed to throw someone off. From what she could tell, no one was following her.

How stupid, she thought. Letting these two get to her was not worth it. Hell, Butch seemed nice before Fish came in. That woman gave her some vibes.

She parked and sprinted up the stairs to her apartment. After locking the door, she flopped down on the couch and turned on the TV. Breaking news in Gotham was never good. The volume was turned up.

"Lt. Bill Cranston was The Balloonman's next victim. The GCPD has begun a thorough investigation, but citizens are asked to stay inside just to be safe."

Elizabeth's eyes were wide. A  _cop_? This man was killing cops now. She flipped through other stations, hoping for more information. Of course, she got it. This Balloonman was being seen as a hero. Citizens didn't have to worry, so long as they weren't corrupt. But the cops – but  _GCPD_  – everyone knew what they were like. Not all, but most. Not all, but enough.

Her fingers were dialing before her mind realized it.

" _Detective Bullock. You know what to do-_ " a beep sounded loudly and she hung up, threw the phone on the couch beside her, and put her hair up in a bun.

"The Balloonman-" the reporter droned on, taunting her, so she attacked the power button and began pacing the room.

Two more tries, she decided, wasn't too many. Or was it two too many? But she did it anyway, and Harvey didn't answer either time.

 _Of course, Elizabeth, you have to become buddy-buddy with a cop. Not a postman or a stupid guitar player or some shit. A_ cop.

So she sat on the balcony, stared up at the sky, and prayed to some higher power that she didn't see any weather balloons.


	9. Chapter 9

Elizabeth fell asleep on the balcony with the phone in her hand – a phone that never rang. Three-thirty that morning, she pulled herself up and back inside before she caught cold. The couch was the farthest she got before collapsing. At seven, she woke again and began getting ready for her day with the TV blasting, hoping to hear more news about the Balloonman. Nothing new. She'd have broken the phone if she didn't need it.  _Damn it, Harvey._

That day, Bruce was chipper – better than Alfred had seen in quite some time. Alfred had rested well; both of them sleeping in. The boy had gone to watch the news when Alfred made lunch; they'd missed breakfast. As the boy ate, a knock sounded at the door.

"Elizabeth, you're looking exhausted this morning," He took her coat after she entered, noting the way her eyes seemed dull. "Is something the matter?" A sigh left her lips before she could think better of it. She simply stared at him. The butler straightened. "Master Bruce is eating. Please, come, I'll fix you some tea."

He'd planned on coaxing her into opening up. After overhearing her time with Bruce, Alfred was convinced he could put on the ol' psych-type pretty well. Instead, Elizabeth spoke quickly and softly.

"I made a mistake befriending a detective. I'm a worrier and now the Balloonman is attacking cops. God! This is stupid," She never meant to vent to him, but damn it, she needed a friend. "I'm sorry, Alfred."

He set the tea before her. "If I may," He paused. "Detective Bullock is quite the lucky man to have someone as genuine as yourself so  _concerned_ with his well being. Surely, he's your friend and aren't we supposed to care for our friend's safety?"

The woman nodded, "I know. I just…don't want to get in too deep," She left it at that, but paused. "Do you know someone named Fish Mooney?"

"I can't say that I do," Alfred shook his head. "Should I?"

"Probably not. She doesn't seem like your class of people," At this comment, the butler raised a brow. "I think she's dangerous." She finished.

"And do you know her, Elizabeth?" He wondered. She silenced. "Gotham is full of criminals and ruffians. I advise that you cut all ties with anyone dangerous, Ms. Sorkin."

The woman smirked at him, meeting his eyes again, the dullness long gone. "We're all capable of being dangerous, Mr. Pennyworth."

Alfred closed his mouth, sat back in his chair, broke her gaze. The air in the room seemed to still. "I'm afraid you're right." was all he muttered before standing and stepping out of the room.

* * *

Jim followed Harvey out to his car, watched him as he pulled out his phone for the third time in an hour.

"Just call her, Harvey," he groaned. Harvey stopped, turned to the young Boy Scout.

"Right. And seem desperate. No thanks."

"She called you three times, right? Usually people return calls from lovers. Or did you screw this up, too?"

"You're starting to piss me off, ya know that, you little snot-nosed putz?" Harvey stormed toward Jim. "And we're  _not_ lovers. I just made things weird."

"Oh yeah, how so?"

His eyes narrowed, teeth grinding. "I stayed over the other night." He huffed.

"But you aren't lovers?"

"We aren't fucking, man. I just…had a few too many and stumbled her way, alright?" he ran a hand down his face. "It was a bad call."

Lizzy hadn't seemed to mind, but Harvey still felt weird about the situation. With the breakfast and the kid there and the  _have a good day_. Shit. This was too platonic for his liking. And yet all he wanted to do was go back to her place, crack open a beer, put his feet up, and tell her how sad it is that he's getting used to having the barrel of a gun pressed against his head. He still couldn't shake off that adrenaline. Felt like a heart attack – felt like empty and regret.

"Just call her. She probably saw the news; probably knows how crooked you are and thought you were gonna be Lamond's next victim." The laugh that came from Jim made Harvey glare.

It was getting late and Harvey was getting a headache from Jim pestering him. "Fine. Okay. I'll call her."

Jim gave him a look, shook his head, "Get some rest." And he walked back inside the station.

For the first time in weeks, Harvey went right home and slept. Crashed right on the couch and was out until a half hour before his next shift. He didn't get to call Lizzy. Essen called him instead – told him something about urgency and a new case and 'get your lazy ass in here before you're fired.' Naturally, Jim was bouncing on the soles of his shoes by the time Harvey pulled up. A murder. Again. This time, it had something to do with Falcone and Maroni and the Arkham deal.

Lately he rarely had a slow day. Just yesterday, they closed the case for the Balloonman and now they were on this?

"Why couldn't Alvarez take this case?" Harvey grumbled after leaving the crime scene at Arkham.

"Come on, this keeps ya sharp, old man." Jim chuckled from the passenger seat.

"I'll kill you."

* * *

As soon as Elizabeth got home from her time at the Wayne's, her phone was ringing. Her mind still raced from the conversation she and Alfred had, but she kicked her heels off and ran to answer the phone without another thought.

"Hello?" if it was Harvey, she'd apologize for calling so frequently and tell him that friends look out for friends. Nothing weird.

But the voice on the line was not Harvey's.

"Liz? It's Butch Gilzean," She had a falling feeling. "-from the coffee shop? You remember."

"Yeah, uh…hi."

"Listen. My boss was impressed with you. See, she owns this nightclub. Been lookin' for some new…talent…to bring in. And she's interested in you,"  _Breathe, Elizabeth. Breathe._ "You busy tonight? Why don't you stop by and have a drink. We'll talk. Girl like you could use some friends in a city like this."

She should have said no, should have slammed the phone down, pulled the cord from the wall, changed her number. "Sure. Where is this place?"

He told her and they hung up. Told her to wear something nice, so that's what she did. Elizabeth changed into black stilettoes, a black off-the-shoulder wispy dress that ended just above the knee, and applied smoky eye makeup. Everything in her told her to stay home. These people were bad news. But curiosity got the best of her. She'd lived years of her life in fear and Gotham was a new start. She was  _not_ going to resort to who she used to be. That girl was dead – long dead – and she had a  _spine_ now.

She pulled up to Fish Mooney's club and put on her most nonchalant expression. She was not going to let fear stop her from becoming something powerful. Not again. Butch was holding the door open for her when she arrived. She entered.

His hand was on the small of her back again, making her remember their encounter yesterday, but she pretended that it made her comfortable – pretended that this was merely a friendly visit and these people were not dangerous at all.

The place was stunning. Classy, warm, comfortable. But something felt off.

"Boss! Your guest has arrived," Butch called over the murmur of the patrons. A pretty girl stood on stage, singing a blues tune. Fish didn't stand from her seat, just motioned over with a long finger and that manicured nail.

"Kind of you to join us, Lizzy." Came that posh voice again. Lizzy smiled despite her nerves.

"Turn down an invitation to a joint like this? I'd be daft." She spoke as Butch pulled out her seat. He, however, didn't sit.

Fish snapped and some well-dressed man brought over a drink for her. She didn't know what it was, but it didn't smell like poison and she needed something to calm her nerves. After swallowing a bit down, she recognized it was Jӓger.

"I have an offer for you," Fish leaned her arms against the table between them. "I'm looking for a new employee, if you will. Do you sing?"

Elizabeth almost snorted, "Not well," Fish raised a brow, looking to Butch, then back, "When I say that, don't think I'm trying to be cute. I legitimately cannot sing well."

Fish hummed, looking Lizzy over, then raising her martini, "Cheers," They clinked their glasses and both swallowed back more alcohol. Lizzy drank until hers was gone, then watched Fish motion for more. They came quick. "What brings you back to Gotham?"

"Oh, you know, missed these scummy people," She knew lying would get her into some serious shit, but these people didn't need to know she worked for Bruce Wayne. It was stupid enough coming here to begin with. "And what do you do, exactly, Fish?" This time,  _she_  leaned her arms on the table. "Just a humble nightclub owner?" It was the Jӓger talking, but damn did it feel good to challenge this woman.

"Something like that," She replied. "Now you're sure you can't sing?" Elizabeth stared with a dull expression. "Do you like boys or girls?"

Elizabeth paused, taken aback by the inquiry, "Boys."

"Now, this job will make you powerful and respectable. Do you want that? To be like me?" It sounded too good. What did this job even entail?

"Sounds too good to be true." She swallowed more alcohol down.

Fish smirked, "Let me see what you've got," Another look at Butch. "Seduce him." Those long fingers pointed and Elizabeth's eyes followed to the tall man with the soft features. Butch seemed like a nice enough guy. And if she said no? What then?

So she stood slowly, let the dress slip back to cover  _just_  a bit more of her thighs, gave Butch a second to look her over from head to toe then back. Every step she took was precise – sharp – until she reached him. Her small hand stretched out and took his chubby fingers. He grasped at it like he was desperate for contact, lacing his fingers around hers. One step closer as she pulled him slightly, leading him to a chair beside them. She could feel Fish's eyes on them, feel the glances from the few patrons that sat in their corner booths and ate and drank. For once, the attention didn't bother her.

Roughly, she pushed the bigger man in the seat, unlocked her fingers from his and slid her hand down his tie, hovering just above his belt buckle. Butch took in a breath. She slipped her legs over his, straddling his thick thighs; never breaking eye contact though he was constantly taking her in. Her hands now found his, raising them gingerly to her hips and letting them wander. Then, she touched his cheek gently, rubbed her thumb across the stubble of facial hair, and stared at his lips while biting hers. As she inched closer to him, her hand ran through his hair. The kiss was deep and needy. She trailed her tongue across his lower lip, ran her hands down until they stopped at his shoulders, and pressed herself into him further. A soft groan came from his throat, which she smirked at. When she pulled away, she could feel Butch hardening beneath her. She gave him a knowing look.

"Well," Fish interrupted her less-than-decent thoughts, "seems to me you know what you're doing. Butch? Any input?"

When she gazed back at the man she was still straddling, she blushed. His eyes were half-lidded, mouth in an 'o' shape, eyebrows raised. He let out half breath, half whistle.

And then there were footsteps. Suddenly Elizabeth felt naked, felt like she'd been doing the dirty right there on the floor. The way Harvey was looking at her sent shockwaves to her core. Fear or attraction, the alcohol didn't let her decipher.  _What was he_ doing  _here?_

She stood. The way her dress shifted down on her thighs didn't feel the same – didn't feel empowering any longer.

"Harvey," Fish began as Liz stepped backward. "See something you like?"

His eyes were on every inch of her, but moved on when Fish stood beside her. "Now I do," He was ogling at Fish's less-than-conservative dress. "Wonderin' if you could help me with a case."

Ouch. If that didn't sting…

"Of course, Harvey. For you. Lizzy, have Butch get you another drink." She waved them off like they were children.

Harvey gave her another glance before sitting down, but he looked worried more than anything. Elizabeth followed Butch to the bar and figured now was a better time than any to have more alcohol. What else could go wrong?

"Sorry 'bout all that," Butch rubbed the back of his neck. "Fish has a peculiar way of handling things. Usually she has the girls seduce her," He chuckled. "Guess I was the lucky one this time." He noticed the way she was staring at the two at the table and glanced over his shoulder at them. "What, Bullock? Nah, he's fine. No worries. Won't think less 'a you for all that," He waved it off. "Probably thinks you're a catch!" oh, if he only knew…

Elizabeth was running through everything. The way Fish held Harvey's hand when they spoke, how they leaned into each other once in a while during the conversation. Jealousy was a funny thing – a funny thing she shouldn't feel; she'd been over this time and time again.

Soon, Fish returned with Harvey, "Have you met my new friend Lizzy?"

"Can't say I have." She was shocked at his response. But he kissed her hand and for a second, it made up for it. "Friend in what sense, there, Fish?" he was narrowing his eyes at Butch.

"Possible new hire.  _If_ she makes the cut."

"Well, seems to me she's a bit sloshed. Better get home, sweetheart." Harvey sneered and she blushed. "Tell ya what, I'll walk you."

Butch gave her a look that read  _'I told ya.'_ And she hopped off the barstool.

"I'll call you." Fish nodded toward her, but she was too focused on Harvey's arm around her shoulder and the smell of leather.

The wind was cold when they made it outside; colder than she remembered on her way in. Or maybe adrenaline had something to do with it. Harvey let go, stepped away, glared at her.

"Are you freggin'  _nuts!?_ "

"Wha-"

" _Fish Mooney?_ Of all employers?" he raised his hands, pulled her toward her car. If she were being honest, she didn't feel the alcohol at all anymore. It was like his yelling sobered her up – gave her tunnel-vision. "I'm telling you –  _begging you –_  not to do this. Don't accept that job. Don't talk to her. This is bad news for both of us. How do you even know her?"

She was almost speechless, "I met them at a coffee shop."

"So you stop in to accept a job offer and have a celebratory makeout sesh with her right-hand man."

"Harvey, that's not-"

"Oh, yeah. Yes it is. I saw it all, princess." He spoke with his hands again and she saw a little vein pulsing in his neck.

"She must be trustworthy and safe enough. You go to her."

He slapped his hands against his thighs. "This ain't on me." He paused, "I'm asking you to drop this. No job. No contact. Not a good plan."

Every fiber of her being wanted to ask him what was so wrong with those two. Yes, she'd caught some weird vibes at the coffee shop yesterday, but today felt different. Today felt like she could be powerful, that she  _could_ change.

* * *

Harvey let her drive home. Followed her, but let her drive. Fuming. He was  _fuming._  Fish and his little talk let him in on some pretty important details about her plans. Falcone goes down, so does Fish – or so he thought. But her ' _Plan B'_ was sitting right beside Butch at that bar. Her ' _Plan B'_ was the one straddling Butch with those pretty thighs and kissing him with those full lips. Fish was looking for a weapon. And that weapon could very well be Lizzy, say she got the job.

So, no, he couldn't let her accept this gig. And no, it had nothing to do with the fact that her kissin' on Butch pissed him off. It had nothing to do with his desperate  _need_ to get laid. He wasn't turned on by that. But…maybe it wouldn't hurt to slide himself into some pretty gal tonight and close his eyes and think about Lizzy doin' somethin' like that to  _him_.

By the time he pulled up to her building, he had a hard on.  _Damn_. She parked then ran over with that skimpy dress blowing in the wind and those long legs looking creamy in the moonlight.  _Shit._  He almost remembered to cover his crotch too late. The window was rolled down.

"You can come in for a drink, if you'd like."

_Yes. Yeah, come in for a drink and don't leave for the night. Don't have to imagine then. Have the real thing. In that dress, with those legs wrapped around him…_

"I, uh, I better not."

She frowned, "Alright." Straightened, "Goodnight, Harvey."

He'd offer to walk her up, but he was at  _full attention_  at the moment and she'd notice. As soon as she got inside, he sped off. Home. Shower. Now. So he did.

Quick release, not satisfying in the least, and Harvey was answering his phone with a towel wrapped around his hips – the thing had been going off the entire time he was trying to get off.

" _What_?"

It was Jim and he needed backup at the mayor's. So, again, Harvey rushed off to save his partner's ass. And, again, he wasn't thanked. If he were being honest, he was thinking about going to a bar and picking up a nice dame. But Jim reminded him that they needed to do paperwork, and there he was at his desk again. Headache, stiff neck, and a feeling in the pit of his stomach that he'd done somethin' wrong with Lizzy.

"Perfect." He muttered, chucking his glasses across the table and rubbing the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger.

"Going to the Wayne's place in the morning. You in?" Jim came over to his desk.

"No." he instantly snapped, but thought better of it. Maybe he should. Lizzy would be there. But so would that butler… "Can't, Jim. Got a hot date."

Jim narrowed his eyes, but left him alone after that. Harvey left that night to go drink his worries away. And he did.


	10. Chapter 10

Harvey knew what the problem was: he never chased. It was always some drunken escapade or some desperate sober chick who needed to get really shitfaced before she could _fathom_ riding his cock. Lizzy was different. He felt the need to protect her, maybe even impress her just so he may have the slightest chance of being on her radar. And he was doing well, too. The chick knew no one in town. No competition.

Often, when he spaced out at the desk over the next few days, all he could think of was Lizzy. Too short dress, too high heels…too much skin showing. She was tempting. He _liked it._ But then Butch. And he knew how Fish worked. It wasn't that Lizzy _chose_ to tongue-fight with good ol' Butch, but Fish had suggested it – and she was very persuasive.

They hadn't spoken in days. Since the incident. Since him pitching a pants tent in the car. He couldn't face her, sober. The disappointment on her face when he denied her offer for a drink; going to her kitchen for a drink, no less. A kitchen where he could easily have hoisted her on the counter, lifted that short dress (if you'd even call it a dress), move her panties to the side and fuck her.

Harvey groaned, adjusting his halfie at his desk.

"Problem there, partner?" Jim barely looked over his files at him.

One glance at the clock showed him his shift was over. "I'm out. Gonna find me a dame."

"Use protection," Jim called over his shoulder, enjoying the scene he was making.

"Fuck off!" Harvey called back.

So there he was – last place he thought he'd be so soon. Fish Mooney's. The place was packed. Harvey typically wasn't seen here unless he needed something. And tonight was one of those nights. Fish would understand. He just needed to get outta his head for a while. Down a couple drinks, kiss ass a bit, and hopefully get laid tonight. If it wasn't Fish, he'd ask for one of her best gals – beg if he had to.

He ordered two fingers of whiskey and sauntered over to Fish's usual table. The seat across from her was occupied by quite the looker. _Win-win._

As he approached, he almost choked on his tongue. _Lizzy? Again? Damn, his luck was shitty lately._

"Hi, ya, Harvey," Butch stepped up. "Back so soon?"

"You remember Liz, yes?" Fish chimed in. "Our guest of honor."

Lizzy looked a bit uncomfortable, but nodded at Harvey, playing along.

Harvey breezed past them after acknowledging the three. He was not drunk enough to be dealing with this right now. She'd probably come to accept their offer. Probably come to kiss Butch again.

So Harvey got tipsy in the corner booth, people-watching.

Elizabeth spoke, "Actually, Fish, I came to turn down your offer," Harvey could still hear their conversation. "I mean no disrespect, but I thought this would be…different."

"You're turning me down?" Fish was livid. "Do you know what I've offered you, _girl_?"

"Yes. I do. And I'm not ready for that yet," She paused, her voice staying steady the entirety of their discussion. "But I will be. And when I am, I'll find you. You won't be disappointed."

Fish paused. "What did Harvey tell you?"

"Beg pardon?"

"Don't play dumb with me, girl. What did Harvey _tell you_? You two knew each other, I could tell by your reaction." That's true. Maybe if she would have kept straddling Butch when Harvey approached the other night, this wouldn't have come up. Elizabeth stayed silent. "I see," And she stood. "I hope you understand that you've wasted my time," She sauntered over to Harvey, sat on his table. "You liar." Elizabeth watched from her seat, holding her breath. Had she really just done that?

"Guilty as charged," He chuckled, stretching his hands out in front of him, "Cuff me? I've been bad."

The woman smirked, leaning in towards him and dragging him in for a long kiss. She was in his lap within seconds. Lizzy's mouth dropped open. What had just happened?

Butch stepped over then. "You and Bullock got a thing?" She shook her head, not breaking gaze from the two. "Guess he never told ya he used to be Fish's boytoy," He motioned towards the bartender. "That's her new one," The man was thin, tall, with a nice face. "Shame you won't be working with us, but between you and me, I think it's a good call."

Elizabeth looked at him. "Why's that?"

"I can't say too much, just that it wouldn't be a safe job."

"Are they ever?"

He shook his head, "True, but at least I'm not used as a weapon of mass destruction."

Whatever he meant, she wanted nothing to do with it. She stood, put some cash down, touched Butch on the cheek, and stormed out of the club, not looking back once.

In Harvey's drunken state, he was riled up. Fish in his lap, kissin' on him, grinding on him. Damn, this was what he needed.

"Come home with me."

"No."

He pouted, "Let me come home with you?"

"No," she pushed him back then stood. "Harvey, your friend is gone, you're of no use to me right now." She waved him off, sauntering away. He watched every step.

Butch appeared soon, which made Harvey furious. "You're bringing down the mood, Harvey. Time to go."

He didn't have to be told twice. One night he did – got cut up with a pocket knife from one of Fish's intern goonies; he still had the scars to prove it.

Lizzy's car was parked a few spots away from the club. Harvey stumbled over, knocked on the window. She rolled it down.

"You alright?"

"Peachy," she paused. "I've got work tomorrow." She sped off without another word.

Yes, Elizabeth was mad. Mostly because Harvey had lied to her. He was clearly still involved with Fish. Harvey was touchy about his personal life, she understood, but him not wanting her to work with his girlfriend was something she wished she'd learned. If he'd just told her that, maybe she wouldn't be so livid. Mostly, she was mad at herself for getting so attached to him – for getting her hopes up that his calls and random visits meant that he was interested in her, when she was clearly delusional.

Harvey called and left two messages. She didn't pick up or return any of them. She was frustrated. Instead of answering the phone, she sent in an application at Arkham now that it opened. Staff was needed and she had worked on her degree for years; only using part of it for her jobs after grad school. But this? This was an amazing opportunity. If she got it, she'd have two jobs and no time to go to coffee shops and run into people she didn't want to know. No time to worry about Harvey and what desperate fucktoy he found in an alley somewhere.

Her anger subsided when a delivery boy knocked at the door. An invitation rest in his hand, a set of servants behind him.

"Delivery from one Bruce Wayne, miss," The man greeted, handing a letter to her. She opened it, reading the familiar cursive of Bruce's hand. A charity gala. Bruce asked her to accompany him tonight. She never thought she'd get to attend. "Shall we leave these here?" It was then she took a glance behind the man. Each servant held bags and boxes. With a step to the side, she let them in.

"Bruce sent you?"

"Yes, ma'am."

When they left, she locked the door and began searching through the bags. Shoes, dresses, accessories…all for her.

Liz called Alfred. "You're serious?"

"Yes. We'll pick you up at five, if that's alright with you." Alfred seemed humored.

So there she was: standing in front of her mirror, a floor-length purple ball gown fitting her perfectly – because of course Alfred knew her size – and stunning silver heels. She felt so different – felt changed. Maybe she could fit into this high-class lifestyle. She'd sure try tonight. For Bruce. For her sanity. She needed to get out of her head tonight.

Alfred was right on time and Bruce came to meet her at the door, jutting his arm out to link with hers like a proper gentleman. He was doing so well lately, but she had a feeling his motives for the night were not good and the knowing look on Alfred's face when they got in the car told her she was right. Bruce had been after information and tonight may just be the night he'd get it.

"Keep an eye on him, will you, as his _date_?" Alfred mused next to her ear as the three of them entered the ball.

"Don't I always?" she joked.

The night went smoothly: bit of champagne, some chatting with unfamiliar people. Alfred was a bit looser than usual. He felt comfortable now that he knew Elizabeth was reliable. The two were becoming good mates and, although he thought otherwise previously, seeing a therapist was good for Master Bruce. Having her around brightened things up a bit; livened them up that was for sure. Elizabeth's interest in Bruce was cultivating a friendship that Bruce never had. Often, the boy would chat with her about things not even related to his grieving. Alfred saw it as preparation for making friends in school when he started.

Surprisingly, Elizabeth slid into easy conversation with these people. Although she felt uneasy about most of them, she knew it meant a lot to Bruce that she was standing beside him during the night. The boy was asking some serious questions to these people. It made Elizabeth feel empowered to do things that frightened her as well. Her mind raced.

And then Bruce mentioned irregularities in the Arkham project and her heart almost leapt out of her chest.

It all happened so suddenly. A screen next to their table flickered and a man began speaking loudly. Elizabeth stood, fingers digging into her palm. She glanced over her shoulder toward Alfred, who was once again on edge. The man spoke of making a drug for a subsidiary of Wayne Enterprises. Bruce was livid, but Elizabeth was more focused on the man's threatening tone and the dull eyes.

A green smoke was filling the room from the vent system. Alfred acted quickly, pulling off his jacket and tossing it over Bruce's head. There was screaming, but above it all she heard a clear voice:

"GCPD, everybody out!" Harvey. Something in her wanted to act like a child – cross her arms and refuse to move from her place until Harvey carried her out. But she was a grown woman, and this was not some schoolgirl crush. She followed Alfred out, watching him carry Bruce with ease.

They were outside soon, standing in the breeze that flitted between buildings on this busy street. Elizabeth looked up, seeing someone on the roof above them. Bruce was beside her, noting her gaze, but she was aware quickly and grabbed at the back of his head, pushing his face into her side and wrapping her arms around him. The man jumped and landed on a car. Blood pooled around him, the alarm going off. Bruce didn't fight to look, like she thought he would. He knew what happened. That was the man from the screen. She looked away. This city was too much most days.

An ambulance was on the scene and so were more officers. Alfred spoke with one of them while Elizabeth sat on the dirty curb with Bruce holding his hands in his lap quietly.

"What are you thinking about?" she asked.

"Finding out what's really happening at Wayne Enterprises." He looked desperate.

"Lizzy?" there was that voice again. She stood slowly, breathing and thinking of how brave Bruce was today. "What are you doing h-…oh," His eyes fell on Bruce. "Look, I've been callin' you," she looked over her shoulder, back to Bruce. "Uh…right. Not the time. Okay."

Alfred returned then, stepping beside Elizabeth. She watched Harvey tense.

"Thank you. For getting us out, detective."

"Just doin' my job," Harvey nodded. "Lizzy, I've just got some paperwork. You could come with me to the precinct and then we can grab some dinner, if you'd like."

Alfred gave her a knowing look as she tried to make an excuse about taking Bruce home, "I picked you up, don't you remember? Too much champagne, eh?" he nudged her, "Go on, get some dinner – something to soak up those drinks." They both knew she was nowhere near tipsy, and Elizabeth felt a glare wanting to show on her face, but she breathed.

"Yes, that sounds nice, thanks," She paused, "And thank _you_ for the evening, Bruce." She crouched, kissed him on the cheek, and then went off with Harvey.

 _Thank you_ , Harvey mouthed to Alfred.

* * *

The detectives were busy filling out paperwork when Lizzy hoisted herself up on Harvey's desk. And damn, did she look good in that purple dress. She was patient as he filled the papers out, but Jim started chatting with her – something about her degree and how Bruce was doing. The way she lit up when she spoke about the kid made Harvey shake his head. She and Jim shared this urgency to be the best possible versions of themselves at work. It was disgusting. It reminded him of his early years.

"Alright, you ready?"

Jim stopped speaking to her, watched the way Harvey's hand hovered behind her back, then slipped back into his pocket as he thought better of touching her. Jim shook his head.

"Nice speaking with you again, Elizabeth. Hope we see you around more often," he spoke pointedly at Harvey, narrowing his eyes at the man.

Jim was going to ruin it. Harvey had felt so ready to apologize to her for whatever it is that he did to piss her off. Now? Now he wanted no apology, no talk, no dinner in her fancy dress. This was not what he does. This was too gentlemanly. This was the old Harvey, the one who cared for people like he'd never been jaded.

They walked to his car in silence. He didn't open her door, didn't utter the first words.

"I don't want you spending money that you don't have on me, okay?" she broke the silence with the first thing she'd said _directly to him_ since the issue outside of Fish's.

"Wow."

"Don't be dramatic – I'm trying to be considerate," she paused, staring at the side of his face. "You wanna take me out to eat? Fine. But nothing expensive or I'm walking." The way she sat back in her seat with a huff, crossed her arms over her chest, the way her lips pursed – he'd never seen any of it. He _liked it_.

"My kinda woman." He started the car.

She was the one looking stupid when they got there. Some shit burger joint a few streets away from the station and she walks in wearing a ball gown. He had to give her credit, she didn't seem to mind all of the weird glances she got; or, at least, she didn't act like it.

They ordered burgers and drinks. When she asked for a lemonade, he wondered if Alfred really was telling the truth about her tipsy state from champagne. He'd ask her, but the silence that befell them was unnerving. He gnawed at his lower lip and watched the baseball game on the TV above the bar. It went on like that for a while, and when he looked at her, she was into the game as well. _Stop noticing these things, Harvey, it's just making it worse._

"Tell me what I did," He blurted.

Her eyes widened and she snapped her head in his direction. Had he really just said that? "Harvey…" she paused, "now that I think about it, it's gonna sound so stupid."

"Look, _I_ sound stupid, okay? I don't like knowing you're mad at me." It was true. So was the fact that she was his friend; that he missed her when they weren't talking. Damn. He'd _missed_ her. No amount of alcohol would get that knowledge out of his head. He'd have to come to terms with it soon. Yet, he didn't want to. Attachment was something he was no good at.

Lizzy nodded, "I know. I don't like fighting with friends," So she said it. Good. Now he wouldn't have to. "I just wish you would'a told me why you really didn't want me working for Fish," She waited for some kind of reply, but Harvey had none. He was lost. "You and Fish?" she raised an eyebrow.

"Oh, _Jesus!_ "

She sat back. "I understand that you're a very secretive guy, that's fine. But these things are kinda important – especially if they make you so uncomfortable that you don't want me working with your bedmates. Any other chicks on the side that I may want to work with in the near future? Tell me now so I don't apply – save me the trouble."

"I still stick by what I said: Fish was not a safe bet. She told me she was looking for a weapon and then she looked right at you," he pointed, leaned in. "And that only means that she was going to use you as bait or a human shield," Their food came then, but they didn't break eye contact. "Whatever happens to this chick she hires, could'a been you," She couldn't find words. Butch was telling the truth. "I'm sure you're a strong lady, don't get me wrong, but you don't know what that life is like."

That reminded her. "But you do." He shut his mouth, sat back in his seat. "Butch told me that you used to be Fish's fuckboy," He'd never heard her speak like that and honestly, it riled him up. _That filthy mouth…_ "Was that just a bedmate thing, or did she use you as a weapon too?"

He looked away, remembering skin and bloodshed. Fish was into some fucked up things. He'd leave there looking like he went twelve rounds with a brick wall. Whips and chains, gags, leather, you _name_ it. "It was its own little war, if you will," His eyes were hollow when they met Lizzy's. "Not my shiniest of moments, but, hey, we've all got 'em."

They started eating simply because the mood was uncomfortable, or maybe that was just Harvey. He wanted to tell her all about it, wanted to get that overthinking look off her face, but he let her stew for a bit.

"Does she still treat you like that?" she asked quietly and Harvey almost choked.

Was she _serious_? One look at her wide eyes and knitted brows, he knew, "No." his voice was soft, "Not for a long while." And he pat the back of her hand once, to comfort her – er, so he told himself. A part of him needed the comfort as well. It'd been a long day, what with Viper.

"Good." Her tone was dark, eyes brooding.

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were protective of me, Ohio." He smirked.

She narrowed her eyes, "Keep eating over there, wise guy." They both laughed.

They were just finishing their burgers when he spoke, "You gave Butch a good time the other night." He shouldn't have said a damn thing. A part of him wanted her to get all flustered, to yell at him, maybe – not _smirk_.

"Yeah, that was…unexpected."

"' _Unexpected'_?" he quoted.

"I mean, you get a call from a club owner's assistant, you think they're hiring a waitress or something. Whatever that was?" she shook her head, "Butch says she usually has girls kiss her, not seduce him." Harvey nodded, knowing all too well. Fish wasn't about resumes or letters of recommendation. You were in if she saw something in you; and that could be a range of inappropriateness. He emptied his beer and stuffed fries in his mouth so she wouldn't ask him anything. "I applied to Arkham." He almost choked again. "Bruce was pressing people today for answers about Wayne Enterprises' influence on the goings on there."

"And he's right to."

"Should I be worried?"

" _I'm_ worried."

"For?"

God, this was exasperating, " _Arkham_? Little, tiny you working at Arkham Asylum?" she raised a brow at his questioning, "Lizzy, I'm gonna be honest here: it's a shithole. The people there are going to be…"

"Harv, I know." She nodded, "It's part of the job. Besides," she straightened, "I need something to occupy my time after my shift ends at the Wayne's."

Harvey bit his cheek, "And this is what you've decided on? Because you're _bored._ "

"Yes."

He huffed, "Jesus, woman, you can't just sit and relax after work?" she and Jim were so alike in that. The kid never stopped moving, never stopping processing. Harvey wished he could tell her that _he_ would occupy her time. Nights like these – dinner, drinks – but he knew his wallet couldn't handle it.

"If I get this job, it'll help pay the bills. My payments have started coming in for my Master's program and the price of this apartment isn't helping." God, did he know that feeling. Harvey didn't pick a nice apartment like she did. He knew he couldn't afford it; knew that if he picked a shit part of town, he could hold his own. And he understood why Liz had picked a nicer area. Pretty, petite thing like her needed somewhere safer.

"I understand." He sighed, tossing money on the table, "You ready to go?" He followed her out, opened her door for her. Truth be told, Harvey was feeling down. He thought he had a shot at this, but with all the things going on in her life now – all the things she wanted to do – there was probably no time for scum like him. When he got in the car and pulled onto the road, words spilled like vomit. "Why were you interested in working with Fish, anyway? She gives off some…vibes."

She was silent a beat or two, "Power." She spoke honestly, nibbling at her lower lip. "I've been so powerless throughout my life, it was something that felt…it felt _right_."

"You aren't powerless."

She nodded solemnly, "I'm getting there."

"What?"

"You said we all have bad moments; poor choices. Mine was a relationship." He didn't speak, hoping that she'd continue, but also hoping that she wouldn't. She did. "He was sweet at first, actually. Then he got mean – in a way that was so quiet, I worried that I was imagining it, yanno? Almost like if I mentioned it, I was being too critical. So I played it off, acted like it was nothing I didn't deserve, and stayed. And then it got louder…"

She didn't want to elaborate, but Harvey read between the lines. "He hit you," Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her nod once. Fingers tightened, tightened around the wheel, knuckles growing white. "Damn it!" Now he knew why she was so curious those days ago about the brutalized women; because she was one. Dozens of questions ran through his mind, but to start he asked, "Did you report him?"

"Yes," She was tense. "He'd started hitting me on parts of my body that people wouldn't see. The day he gave me a black eye, he chased me all the way to the police station after breaking the phones at my apartment. I won. He was arrested."

Harvey stared straight ahead when he stopped at a red light, saw no movement in his peripheral – she was doing the same. Flashes of images of the bruised and broken, beautiful, beautiful, weeping women with the weight of the world on their shoulders. If there was one thing he hated most, it was abusers.

"Lizzy…" he whispered, shaking his head. It was quiet until the light turned green again.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have told you."

Harvey didn't think – just blurted again. "I was Fish's playtoy for a while and it messed me up so bad, I didn't want to try for another woman for months."

So he said it. Finally. Not a soul knew that. It felt relieving to get off his chest, yet so revealing it chilled him. His goal had been to even the playing field, but now he wished he could take it back. Maria was a catch for him, as she would be for any man, really, and his fascination with her led him to some dark corners. Then, of course, she moved on to the next one – younger, thinner, pretty-boy type. It cracked him a bit. Whatever they had now, he was really good at hiding the hurt.

"Harvey, I'm very sorry she was like that with you," when she spoke, he took his eyes off the road to look at her a moment. She paused, "You didn't have to do that, you know."

"Do what?"

"Tell me that so I wouldn't feel so open," she laughed. "But thank you."

"Don't mention it. Seriously – don't."

She said, "I won't," and he believed her.


	11. Chapter 11

The sun was up this Thursday morning, but Elizabeth had overslept. She rushed around the apartment to get ready in time for work at the Wayne's. On her way out the door, her phone rang. She doubled back for it.

"Hello?" She sounded winded.

"Lizzy. I just need to vent, okay?" Harvey didn't give her a second to reply. "I'm on my way to another scene. Another dead girl. No one believes me, but it's The Goat, man. I know it."

"Harvey? Are you-"

"Dix and I closed it a decade ago, and now this," _Dix._ She remembered Harvey mentioning his old partner before, but not very often. As soon as he'd start on a story about him, he'd tense and then change the subject. "First-borns of the rich snobs. Damn it!" she heard him slam something, "I already solved this case."

"Could it be a copycat?" Alfred would understand if she were five minutes late. Harvey didn't get this verbal often, so when he did she let him go.

"Has to be. I killed him, Liz. I killed him," he yelled then took a long pause. "Someone's slashing up the kids of Gotham's 1% - the press will have a field day. I'm fucked. I closed this. I'm _fucked_."

"Harvey, breathe. You'll catch him. You caught the other scumbag, you'll catch this one too. Just…try and stay level-headed."

There was a breath on the other line, "God, you're right, Ohio…thanks."

"I've gotta get to work. Be safe, please?"

"I'll do what I can." And the line fell silent.

She was right: five minutes late and Alfred didn't seem to mind. She'd stay five minutes over today if it was a concern. The two gentlemen were sitting in the study, watching the news about The Goat.

"You're not afraid, Bruce?" Elizabeth asked the boy.

"No. Why should I be?"

"Maybe we should leave town for a little bit," Alfred suggested. "To the lake house. You like it there, don't cha?"

"I'm not going anywhere. I have work to do. Besides, why would The Goat take me? There's no one to take me from." The young man placed another article on his board behind the desk.

The look of sadness on Alfred's face caused Elizabeth to usher him from the room. They stood in Alfred's quarters now, silent and staring at the floor.

"He's speaking out of hurt," she assured the butler.

Alfred narrowed his eyes, "Yeah? Well how about _I_ start doing that myself, hm?" his voice was snippy and hushed. She knew how much he'd been through, but didn't even try arguing, just gave him a look. "Right. I know, Ms. Sorkin."

"He'll start appreciating you, I know it," After they talked, Alfred went to make lunch and Elizabeth spoke with Bruce. "So, has Alfred always been the one to do all of this stuff or did you guys have other help?"

Bruce spoke, "We had help before. A maid comes in usually, right after you. She's been around for a while, but my mother suspected others were stealing from us so we had to let many of them go. Alfred has always taken care of me."

She hummed, "He does a lot for you."

"Yeah." He was distracted by his work.

"Do you ever thank him?"

Bruce stopped then and stared at her, "Why do you ask that?"

She shrugged, "You said earlier that The Goat couldn't take you from anyone, but from what I've seen, Alfred has acted more like a father than a butler," Bruce's mouth was shut and he stared blankly at the desk. "I'm sure your words upset him, Bruce. You know he cares for you, more than anyone else in this world."

"I know."

Elizabeth rest a hand on his shoulder and rubbed, "I'm not here to scold you, I'm just reminding you that it's okay to tell him how much you care about him, too."

"I feel bad now. Alfred has been like a father, but he can't replace my father."

"I know."

"And I feel like I can't tell him things because he's being overbearing," he said. "I don't like keeping things from people."

That's when the guilt set itself between Elizabeth's ribs. "Bruce, there's something I need to tell you: I applied for a job at Arkham."

There was a long pause. "Why would you do that?"

"My tuition payments are coming due, I'd like to have something to take up my time after I get off shift here with you, and it's putting my degree to good use." The more she explained it, the more idiotic it sounded to her.

"But we don't know if they're corrupt, or what's going on with this company."

"I know. I didn't get it yet, I just…Bruce, I'm sorry."

He sent her home then. Didn't tell Alfred, didn't ask him to walk her out; just told her to go. She did without a fuss. Coming clean was a good idea at first, but then when she got home to find a message on her answering machine, she kicked herself for saying anything to the boy.

"Ms. Sorkin? This is Betty calling from Arkham. I regret to inform you that we are full-staffed currently. However, we have looked over your credentials and are thoroughly impressed. Your application, along with a few others, has been held in case we have any openings in the future. I'd like to discuss this with you when you're available. Please give me a call back at 555-3684, extension 216." The message ended there.

If she'd have just waited to tell Bruce, she would have known that she didn't get it and this whole 'get out of my manor' thing could have been avoided. How stupid of her. How incredibly, horribly stupid.

She called Betty back.

"I'm so happy to hear from you. Sorry about the bad news, but as I'm sure you're aware, these places often have a high turn-over rate."

"I'm sure," Elizabeth sighed. "And a high burn-out rate, too."

Betty hummed, "Yes, sadly you're correct. But this means that we may have an opening in the near future. Would you be interested in a position here if that happens?"

Elizabeth hadn't really thought it out. Bruce was pissed – maybe pissed enough to fire her. "Yeah, that couldn't hurt."

"Excellent. We have your number on file and we will be sure to call if something opens up."

She thanked the woman and hung up with a sigh. A nice bath took her mind off things. After that, she ordered Chinese and enjoyed her time alone with the radio on.

When Elizabeth got wind of the hunt for The Goat going down at nine that night, she drove over to the precinct. The place was as busy as it was last time she was there. She knew Harvey wouldn't be at his desk, but she maneuvered her way over there anyway.

 _Damn it, Harvey._ She chewed on her lower lip, letting her eyes lose focus as she glared at his empty seat. The Goat was a case he closed a decade ago, he'd said. Meaning he'd get in over his head just so he could close it again before the city went into panic. It wasn't that he cared too much for the citizens – not like Jim had – but he cared that a case _he'd_ closed was slowly coming undone. Who knew how horribly manic Harvey acted in anxiety like this.

"Can I help you?" came a female voice. Elizabeth almost jumped. The woman standing beside her was pretty in a plain sort of way. "You here for Bullock?"

She nodded, "I'm sorry – I should have known he wasn't here."

"You're Elizabeth, aren't you? I'm Sarah Essen," She extended her hand in greeting, which Elizabeth took. _So this was 'Cap'._ "Jim tells me you've been spending time with Harvey. I have to hand it to you: he's been bearable lately."

"I'm sure I have no influence on that, Ms. Essen."

The woman furrowed her eyebrows, "Is there something I can help you with?"

This was stupid, she'd known. It was a pointless drive here and she was just making a fool of herself waiting on ol' Harv to come back. "I knew he wasn't going to be here. I-I don't know why I bothered you. Thanks for your time, Captain, but I should go."

"How much has he told you about The Goat?" Essen asked as Elizabeth turned to leave.

One of two things could happen: she could get pissed because Harvey had mentioned anything about the case – which was probably a no-no – or she could try to validate Elizabeth's reason for being there. Elizabeth wanted neither of those options.

"He told me something about him and Dix working it ten years ago and how this _Goat_ is back, but not much else." _Don't mention the drink and the anxiety. Don't mention the dull look in his eyes or the way he silently begged for comfort when things got too much._

"That's it?" she seemed skeptical.

Elizabeth shrugged, "If Harvey doesn't initiate it, I don't push. He'd tell me if he needed to," She knew there had to be secrets and, sure, it bugged her. But Harvey knew what was best to keep to himself, and from what she'd seen so far, when things got too much he knew he could always crumble on her doorstep. "It was nice meeting you."

She was home, nursing a glass of wine when someone knocked on the door. In a rush, she threw down her book, placed her wine on the table, and sprinted to the door. Harvey stood there, wrinkled shirt, tie loosened around his neck, eyes hollow, dark circles beneath.

"Heard you came lookin' for me," he said. She embraced him, thankful that he hadn't lost his head and gotten himself killed because his emotions were too high on this case. He made a pained noise and she instantly pulled away. "Think he bruised my back."

"You're exhausted," she noted by the deep, grogginess of his voice. "Please, sleep, Harv." She let him in, watched him remove his shoes and hat.

"I can't, Liz," he sighed, rubbing his temples.

"Heard you caught him, though."

"Yeah, well. Somethin' just don't feel right," he set himself down in the living room. "These two just have too many similarities. It's not right. Dix said somethin' about a conspiracy, but I can't picture it."

"You think someone else is doing this?" she stepped into the living room.

"I don't know," he paused. "I'd been watching Raymond Earle and he just started freaking out; kept screaming 'no'. Has a history of mental illness. And then he started squeezing his hand, just like Mr. Hastings did," Elizabeth was lost with all these names. She'd heard Hastings was the father of the girl who'd been killed that morning, and she figured Raymond was the guy Jim and Harvey caught tonight. But what was he getting at? He narrowed his eyes, "Do you know anything about this _hypnotherapy_ thing?"

"A bit, why?"

"There was this guy, a…uh…a patient of this woman's – this hypnotherapist. Mr. Hastings kept clenching his fist," he made the motion. "Do you know why people would do that?"

Elizabeth straightened, "Well, sometimes if a patient has a compulsion – for example, an impulse to hurt someone – the hypnotherapist can sort of put the patient under, if you will. And then, they can make the patient use a physical movement whenever they have that compulsion. So, like clenching and unclenching your fist."

Harvey's eyes went wide, "So Raymond Earl and Randall Milky were treated by this… _hypnotist_ woman. Ten years ago for Milky…" Elizabeth was trying to follow again, but it was hard. _Milky was the one from ten years ago that Dix and him caught. Keep up._ "Both of these guys committed this crime as The Goat. Both treated by her. She completely turned both those men upside-down until their own identity was the bad idea – the bad compulsion. Then, it wasn't even them clenching their fists anymore – it was the spirit of The Goat."

He jumped up and started rushing to the door to slide on his shoes and hat.

"Harvey, wait," She ran into the kitchen, snatched the extra key to her apartment, and handed it to Harvey. "You haven't slept in how long? When this is over, please, come back here and rest. It's a shorter drive. I just…"

He took it with a shake of his head, "No matter how many times I tell you, you won't stop worrying, huh?"

"That's my job," She shrugged.

He kissed her on the forehead, pocketed her spare key, and bolted out the door.


	12. Chapter 12

Harvey did as he was asked: he came back to Lizzy's to sleep. It was nine a.m. after everything was settled and he didn't expect her to be home. But there she was, staring blankly at the TV, didn't even acknowledge him coming in. The key felt foreign in his hand.

"Liz? Are you sick? Thought you'd be at work." He could tell how exhausted his voice sounded. He'd lost count of the hours between his last 'rest.'

She spoke with an agitated voice he'd never heard from her, "Yeah, well I guess I have the day off."

"Why's that?" He took off his coat and hat, removed the tie and shoes, and put the gun down on the table.

"I kinda fucked things up," she said. He stood in the doorway of the living room, reached for the remote to turn off the TV. "I wanted to be honest with Bruce."

"You told him about the Arkham thing."

"Look where honesty got me," she mumbled seemingly to herself. "Gave me the rest of yesterday off and now today. Said he'd call me if he needed anything."

"Ouch."

"You know the kicker?" she looked up at him. "Right after he told me to get out, I got a voicemail from Arkham."

"You got the job?" Harvey didn't know whether to be excited for her or fearful.

"No," she said flatly. "So I'm out _that_ job, they'll call me if something opens up, and now I might be out this one too. I've never seen Bruce angry. And he's _really_ angry. So, I don't know if this is a passing thing, or if he could stay mad long enough to decide to fire me."

Harvey threw himself down on the couch beside her, rubbing his hands over his face. "Jesus, I'm sorry, Lizzy."

"That job with Fish is lookin' _really_ nice right about now," she admitted softly.

This made him stop all movement. "Sure, it'd be money coming in, but you'd probably lose your life. Do you want that in a gig?" Was she that desperate?

She stared at him. "Your 'gig' is like that, detective."

Harvey was angered and flustered and just plain _exhausted._ He huffed.

"Damn it, Liz, I'm too tired for this."

Elizabeth breathed, "I'm sorry. You're right. I made up the bed in the other room for you," He lazily turned his head to view her. "No, you aren't sleeping on this couch. It kills the back." She was standing now, pulling at his wrists and failing at trying to drag him to his feet. He got a good laugh out of it. "Up, you big oaf!"

"Fine, _okay!_ " Harvey stood, mere centimeters from her. He could feel her body heat and she was looking up at him with those big, brown eyes.

Her fingers looped around the straps of his empty gun holster and she ran them up, up, to his shoulders. Harvey breathed in slowly, took a step toward her, stared at her lips.

"Go get some sleep," she hummed.

It took him a few too many moments to step back, but he did. When he got in the bed, he ditched his holster and pants. He slid under the covers and was sleeping in a matter of minutes.

Elizabeth could hear him snoring down the hall for a few hours. She didn't get anything done, really. Harvey's phone kept vibing on the end table. A few calls, a few texts. She didn't want to be nosey, but eventually it got too annoying for her and she had to go wake Harvey.

When she entered the spare room, he wasn't snoring anymore. Instead he lay on his stomach; his mouth a hard line, arms under the pillow. She'd never seen him look so peaceful.

"Harvey," she spoke. He didn't move so she stepped closer. She noticed a tattoo on his bicep. 'Perseverance' it read within a banner. She wondered if it meant something to him. She remembered a few weeks ago when he mentioned that Jim would be worn down on the job – no more white knight. At the time, it seemed like Harvey was just agitated by his new partner. Now, Elizabeth felt like he was speaking from experience.

With a soft touch, she shook his shoulder to wake him.

"Somethin' wrong?" was his waking reaction as he held himself up on his elbows.

"I hate to bother you, but your phone has been going off for hours." It was already time for dinner. Harvey slept for quite a while, which made her feel better about his long nights lately.

He stood quickly, grabbing his pants and shoving his legs into them before Elizabeth could register his lack of clothing. She blushed as he brushed passed her, touching a hand to her back before leaving the room.

When she met him in the living room, he shook his head.

"Jim is a piece 'a work, yanno?" he ran a hand through his hair and told her a story about orders to kill a snitch named Oswald (the Penguin?). Before he left work that morning, he became aware that Jim didn't really kill this _Penguin_ , which put Harvey in a bad position.

"Jim's your friend, though. You can't just cut him out." As she spoke, she bit her tongue in wonderment if he'd be commanded to kill Jim.

"Right, right. I'm planning on getting loaded and making a visit to the boy scout's place," he shrugged her comments off and searched through his coat for his flask. "I should actually get going," he scratched at the back of his neck, digging in his pocket with the other hand and removing the spare key. "Want this back?"

Elizabeth paused a beat. "No. Keep it."

He chuckled and shook his head before sliding on the rest of his clothes. "I'll see you soon," he promised with a kiss to her palm before walking out the door once again.

Heart fluttering for some idiotic reason, Elizabeth shook her head and smiled. She needed to get out. This place smelled like cigarettes and Harvey's cologne. So she went to a bar; Finnigan's. Ordered a beer and a burger and watched whatever shit new station was on. She tried forgetting Harvey's scratchy beard against her palm and the comfort she felt with him resting a few rooms over. When her beer came, someone took a seat next to her. Before she could take a sip, she registered that it was Deb - the woman Harvey knew. If only she'd known this woman was working, she would have gone to the bar across the street.

"We got off on the wrong foot," Deb spoke without a formal greeting. Elizabeth bit her tongue so as to stop her groan of annoyance. "I'm just worried about you, if you _are_ dating Harvey."

Elizabeth didn't correct her. "Why's that?"

Deb leaned in closer, "Harvey and I were dating for a few months. He'd come over after a shift and we'd…well, you know…" she blushed. Elizabeth stared blankly. "Things seemed fine at first. But then I noticed that he wasn't sleeping," _He doesn't now_ , Elizabeth thought. "Like, he'd be up at random hours, stumbling around the house. It was weird, yanno?" Her burger and fries came too, which gave her an excuse for not looking Deb in the eyes.

"So what does this have to do with me?" She started eating and bit down her desire to bash this woman's head against the bar.

"When he _did_ sleep, he'd wake me up, screaming. Night terrors, I think. Like some PTSD shit. He's pretty psycho," as Deb spoke, Elizabeth found herself feeling bad for Harvey. "He choked me one night. I tried waking him from a nightmare and he reached up and choked me. Said he didn't remember it in the morning, but I had marks on my neck."

Elizabeth searched through every available thought to defend him, but came up blank. Her mind kept picturing her ex's hands on her neck, his body on top of hers, how hard it'd been to breathe, how heavy he was on her small frame. That _smile_ when he'd woken from his nightmare and found what he'd done – still on top of her, still with his hands pressing into her jugular. _He hadn't stopped, he hadn't tried. He didn't stop._

"Well, that's not-"

But Deb cut her off, "-He slapped me once too. That's when he _was_ awake, so I didn't forgive him for that one. Broke a few things in my living room, and then stormed out."

 _Elizabeth's mind went to_ **him** _tossing lamps, throwing kitchen knives, dodging vases. Slamming doors, chasing her through the narrow halls. Neighbors complaining but no one coming to defend her; no one asking where the_ bruises _came from._

"That's horrible," she spoke and her voice sounded distant even to her. "How long did this go on?"

"Oh, well," she waved her off. "We weren't together more than two months. I broke it off when he started lying to me. Got _real_ uninterested. Started telling me he'd see me, then would have to 'work'. Or wanted to come to my sister's wedding and he left me waiting for a ride for hours before calling and saying he couldn't make it." Deb twisted her blonde hair around her finger and looked deep in thought.

Elizabeth still felt a little uneasy, but she shook it off as old memories coming back around. She'd be fine. Hell, she and Harvey weren't anything but friends. If he got violent, it wasn't going to be with her.

"Where did you meet him?" she remembered Harvey mentioning them not being good together; maybe she just pushed his buttons and he had enough.

"At a bar here in Gotham. I was so young and so sloshed, I don't even remember the name of it," she laughed. "I was with a few friends. My _God_ , that was ten years ago already!"

Elizabeth felt a tingling in her fingertips, but she shook it off and cracked her knuckles. Something felt familiar. When she looked back up at Deb, she noticed her eyes were wide, staring directly behind her. Elizabeth turned and was chest-to-nose with a bald man. He smiled. Before she could move, he pulled back a fist and knocked her out.

When she came to, her head was throbbing and her vision was blurry. She felt like throwing up. Her wrists were tied and she sat in some kind of kitchen. The bald guy was leaned against the stove, a woman standing in front of the sink. There was a blonde woman in the chair beside her; wrists tied as well.

"What the Hell is going on?" she managed.

"Your little boyfriend was searching for my boss," the man said. She stayed silent, assuming he was talking about Harvey. "Don Falcone? Please, don't act ill-informed."

"Zsasz!" a voice called in the other room, drawing the man's attention away from her.

Elizabeth took a moment to look at the woman beside her. Her eyes looked crazed.

"Barbara Keane," she greeted in a hushed voice.

"Elizabeth Sorkin," her eyes trailed over to the woman who was washing dishes. "So what gives? Why does Falcone care?"

"I didn't know Harvey had a girlfriend."

Elizabeth sat straighter, "No, I'm not-"

"They wanted leverage after Falcone found out that James and Harvey were coming after them," she seemed to be talking to herself, she seemed distant. "How long have you been together?"

"We're not."

"I understand if you're embarrassed. You're pretty young for him…" she droned on. "I mean, can he even…?" she motioned to her crotch.

So Barbara wasn't listening and truth be told, Elizabeth was getting agitated. First, she had to deal with Deb's buggering on about Harvey being abusive and psychotic – which, granted, could be a lie. Maybe Deb still had feelings for the detective and was trying to steer Elizabeth away. Then, this _Zsasz_ person knocking her out and dragging her here. Now Barbara wasn't hearing her denying the relationship. And her luck, Falcone wouldn't hear it either. And what would that mean for her? Did they want to kill her?

She breathed and closed her eyes for a second. Staying level-headed was just how she would get out of here.

"Oh, yeah," she smirked, deciding to make the situation more interesting. "I barely get any sleep anymore," she raised an eyebrow at her innuendo. "We wanted to keep our…uh… _relationship_ a secret."

By now, the woman at the sink was drying her hands while listening in. She slowly sat at the table, looking shifty and nervous before speaking.

"Carmine won't lay a finger on me. How do you do it?" she hushed. "We have an age gap, too. It's just…" she sighed and the two other women stared at her. "Oh, sorry. I'm Liza."

Elizabeth continued, "Harv's just so riled, yanno? Like, as soon as he gets off work, he wants to _get off_."

Barbara looked disgusted, which made Elizabeth bite back a laugh. _Too easy._ Zsasz came back in as Liza stood. What would a powerful man like Falcone want with a young girl like Liza? She couldn't figure it.

"Both of you, up."

He led them into a room where Harvey and Jim sat.

"Okay so it wasn't a bluff," Harvey spoke, standing and staring at her. He looked wild, looked like Jim had convinced him to do something against his better judgment and now the repercussions were coming to a head.

"Untie them, Victor," Falcone spoke. Elizabeth didn't take her eyes off of Falcone the entire time. She'd known of him for years, but never was she in his presence. And now here she was, being used as leverage to keep Harvey from arresting the mayor and Falcone. She narrowed her eyes at the mayor, who'd been staring. Quickly, he looked away. Quite the jumpy individual.

"Liz, I'm sorry," Harvey said. He pulled her closer to him.

"My good friend Fish Mooney gave me the information about Harvey's new lady. I'm impressed by your change of heart, detective. Courting a woman is unlike you. Don't you usually hire call girls?"

Harvey snaked his arm around her. "Pretty low of you to snatch her, Falcone."

"I do apologize, but, desperate times," Falcone drew closer, reaching for her hand and kissing it. "I do hope you forgive me, ladies." he glanced at Barbara too. "You all have to die. Such a waste, though." he took a minute to look at the men. "Gotham needs men like you – both of you – strong men with principles. I wish I could make you see: I'm not the enemy. The system is not the enemy. The enemy is anarchy."

"Do we get a last meal, or a smoke, or anything? Or just talk?" Harvey interrupted, trying to make light of the situation.

"You trusted my word – that's a good first step. There's still hope for you."

Just like that, he let them go. It all happened so abruptly, Elizabeth was shocked. Harvey bolted with her before Falcone changed his mind – holding his hand at her lower back and calling to her to run. No one spoke. Jim and Barbara followed, meeting them at the car.

"Everybody okay?" Jim asked from the front seat.

Barbara and Elizabeth exchanged looks. Overall, yes, she was fine. She felt overwhelmed and shaken, but she was okay.

"Yeah, James," Barbara said.

Elizabeth only spoke once, asking for Harvey to drop her by Finnigan's so she could get her car. As soon as she got out, Harvey called after her.

"I'll drop these two off, then be over in a bit."

She could almost see him barging in the apartment, staring at her with drunken eyes, and choking her against the wall. Damn Deb for getting these things in her mind.

"Don't worry about it," she spoke with a shake of the head. Quickly, she got in her car and drove for home. She cursed herself for getting involved in Harvey, cursed herself for even trying to find a friend in this city. Everyone had baggage. Everyone had enemies here. It was naïve of her to think that she'd be unharmed.

The rest of her night was spent training. Self-defense came back to her quickly, as did the years of gymnastics she'd done as a child. Burning off steam and sweating away anxiety was just what she needed that night. One can never be too careful in Gotham and Elizabeth was no longer going to be thought of as an easy target. There were repercussions - there were rules. It was time she stopped feeling helpless.


	13. Chapter 13

Harvey hadn't heard from Elizabeth in a week. No problem, he figured, just a bit freaked out about the whole Falcone thing. Maybe. But this time he gave her some space, even though it was killing him. He felt  _guilty_  for putting her in danger. Hell,  _Jim_  felt guilty too. Had they known Falcone was going after their women, they wouldn't have done it. Well, maybe  _women_ wasn't the correct term. Harvey and Liz weren't exactly anything. It was like he needed a constant reminder.

But he'd put her key on his key ring.

He thought about going to see her after his shift. So he did. And she didn't answer. Well, not right away. When she opened up, she was in yoga capris and a red sports bra, hair in a high ponytail. Her cheeks were reddened and she seemed out of breath.

"Hey…" he tried to keep his eyes on her face. "Are you alright?"

Liz was a bit reluctant about letting him in, but she did. Didn't glance wearily in the hallway behind him like he thought she would. As they entered the kitchen, she pulled on a flowing white shirt that fell off her shoulder and made her look even more disheveled.

"I'm fine, Harvey." She spoke it, but there was tension in her voice and she didn't look him in the eyes.

He drew closer, placing a hand on her bare shoulder. She flinched so he pulled away slowly. Elizabeth's mind was playing tricks on her. This wasn't  _him,_ this was Harvey. This was a friend – a very good one at that, and she shouldn't let some girl convince her that Harvey was a manipulative man, like her ex.

"Lizzy, there's somethin' goin' on and I think I know what it is," he started. She let him continue. "Falcone has ya freaked. I get it! But, I promise that I'm going to keep you as safe as I possibly can. I didn't think Fish would think anything of our relationship."

At 'relationship', Elizabeth blushed. It took her a moment to regroup. "No, that wasn't it. I went to Finnigan's that night – before being kidnapped by that Zsasz guy – and Deb was there."

"Oh, fuck."

She continued, "She told me that you were abusive and that you had night terrors and you choked her one night," They both stood silent for a minute. "My ex was a bad man, Harv, and I just got a little freaked out about getting involved with people like him again, but you've never been like that with me."

"That chick is nuts," Harvey sighed. "I told you, we weren't good together. She was a recovering alcoholic and I brought her right to that ledge and got her back into drinking. And she was a mean drunk. Clawing and scratching and rude remarks. It was the first woman I tried to go steady with since Fish. And she kept accusing me of cheating."

"Were you?"

"No! I was  _working_. My hours were crazy, my sleep was crazy. I'd killed a kid…" he silenced then, casting his eyes downward and running his thumb over his lower lip. "I had a lotta nightmares." He bit his tongue in order to stop himself from admitting that he still did. "The night I choked her in my sleep, I felt so guilty. It was a week of me doing the wrong thing. I'd gotten a week leave for…the incident…and my drinking was at an all-time high. When I did sleep, there were nightmares and Dix was telling me it was like PTSD, but that couldn't be right. And she was just trying to wake me, but I fucked that up too."

Elizabeth didn't expect this. All she wanted was to tell him that she was worried, but she was more stuck in her head than upset with him. She didn't really believe that Harvey could be abusive, so she'd pushed it off. Most of her week was dedicated to working out and self-defense. It honestly impressed her, what she remembered. Her father would say something about all the money he put into training and how important muscle memory was, but she'd shake it off. Yes, Falcone kidnapping her did leave a sick feeling in her stomach that she was desperately trying to rid, but that had nothing to do with Harvey. Being his friend made her more vulnerable, yes, but that didn't mean she was mad at him. And now all this came out?

"I'm sorry for bringing it up."

"It's better that you know," he shook his head. "Deb is still pissed because I ditched her at her sister's wedding and then she broke it off with me."

"Do you still have night terrors?" she asked. The fact that he didn't answer gave her all the information she needed. "There's nothing surprising about that."

"Yeah? Well, that's nice." He opened the fridge and pulled out a beer. Twist top. Good. He hadn't the slightest clue where the Hell she kept the bottle opener in this fully-stocked kitchen. It was one of the few things he  _had_ in  _his_ kitchen.

"A lot of officers have them," when he didn't reply, she dropped the subject. "I'm in more danger now that we're ' _a thing'_ aren't I _?_ "

Harvey raised an eyebrow. "Jim asked me about that. Said somethin' about Barb blabbing on about my  _needs_  for you," he chuckled. Boy, was  _that_ an interesting conversation. "Any idea what that could be about?" He figured he knew. But, damn, the things he told Jim he wanted to do to her…

She made a face. "Well, Barbara wouldn't listen when I kept telling her that we aren't really a thing. So I made up some stories and-" she shrugged.

This made the man laugh loudly. "My God," he shook his head. "What were you doing in here anyway?" he motioned to the other room.

"A bit of gymnastics."

No wonder she moved the furniture. "You know gymnastics?"

Elizabeth smirked. "There's a lot you don't know about me, detective."

The phone rang loudly and Elizabeth went to pick it up.

"Elizabeth, I am terribly sorry about the way Master Bruce treated you. I was under strict orders not to call you, but he is currently at school," Alfred's voice sounded over the line.  _That's right, Bruce started class this week._ "I would be delighted to have you for dinner tonight."

"Bruce won't be mad?"

"Bloody Hell! Bruce has no say; he isn't making the meal, is he? Besides, you need to talk."

"You're right."

"Did you get the job?"

Elizabeth paused, "No."

Harvey took a few minutes to ogle at the beer bottle and the label and the marks on the wood floor. And her ass. Lizzy was leaning against the wall, phone in her little hands, back turned. God, if they weren't friends, he would've already been there. Shaking his head, Harvey tilted the beer bottle back and emptied its contents.

"My apologies. However, you still have employment with us."

"Unless Bruce changes his mind."

"Things have been quite dull around here without you, Ms. Sorkin. I'm sure Bruce will forget all about this grudge."

They made plans for dinner that evening and she hung up, turning back to Harvey without a word, simply because he was looking at his cell phone.

"Well, we won't even get a quiet moment together, will we?" he shook his head. "Jim and I have another case – shocker!"

"Well, better get on that, Bullock."

He didn't want to leave. He wanted to sit in the living room and drink his beer and watch her do some gymnast shit. But he shouldn't, what with all the sexual talk about the two of them. It was probably a bad idea. So he left without looking back.

Bruce was not in good spirits lately. He didn't seem to be enjoying school. The one time Alfred asked if he wanted a mate over, he yelled. Having Lizzy gone at this time was not good for the lad.

When the doorbell rang, Alfred hurried to let her in.

"How are things, Alfred?" she spoke as he slipped her coat off her.

"Been better."

She narrowed her eyes. "How can I help?"

Alfred breathed, relieved, almost hugging the woman. "I've never had a child, and now that he hasn't a parent..." he sighed. "I need your help."

At dinner, Bruce apologized for his rude behavior and Elizabeth told him the situation with Arkham, continuing to explain why she wanted another job.

"If it's money, I can give you some. I have plenty."

"Bruce, I can't ask for that." Elizabeth was never one for handouts.

"Then come back to work," he stared at her. "I need your help."

Alfred bit his tongue and flinched. "With what, Master Bruce?"

"Fighting. She knows self-defense; we spoke of it weeks ago."

"Why do you need to fight?" Elizabeth was lost.

"He's being bullied in school," Alfred threw down his napkin. "Tell me, Ms. Sorkin: is there harm in him knowing how to throw a punch, say some little twerp deserves it?"

Elizabeth settled herself, stared at the man. "The therapist in me disagrees with what I'm about to say," she paused. "Bruce, I can't stand by and know that you're being hurt." After everything that'd happened to the boy, she was frustrated that bullies would use his situation to their advantage. She'd grown to care for the boy very much. "If Alfred agrees, I will help you learn to fight."

Bruce smiled. Genuinely smiled. Elizabeth saw Alfred settle, relief filling his features. She felt relieved, too. Relieved that she would still have an income, relieved that Bruce was going to school, and relieved that Harvey had started to open up to her. Today was a day of progress. So, she promised to meet him right after his school day ended, ready to train, and drove herself home. She called Harvey when she got there, asking him to come over when he was off. He did. With a case of beer and a smile. A fake one, she noted.

"I figured I owed you these, considering I'm the only one drinkin' 'em."

She laughed and gave him a sidelong glance. "Oh, so you're counting them now?"

It took him no time to fill the fridge with beer and pull two out for each of them, wiggling one in front of her face.

He grinned, "Maybe. That a problem, Ohio?" A narrowing of her eyes and she fished in the drawer for the bottle opener. He did the honors and they clinked the necks together. "So everything a-okay with the boy wonder?"

"Yes and no," she hummed. "He's being bullied at school."

"Really now?" they took their drinks in the living room and sat down on the couch.

"I'm just not ready to teach a kid to fight. Violence in him isn't what we need right now, but he's asking Alfred and I to teach him."

"Hell, kids are startin' shit, maybe it's time he ends it," he shrugged.

Elizabeth turned on the TV – a baseball game. Harvey was reminded of their time at the diner and how honest they'd both been. It'd been years since he'd had a friend – an actual ' _hey, come over and let's have a brew'_ friend. There was some stupid familiarity to this situation – to  _her_ – that was bugging him for weeks now. Something about the way she walked, the way she smelled like mango body wash and Sunday mornings that reminded him of white and red and black crossing his vision.

The longer Harvey had to think about what he'd admitted to her earlier that afternoon, the worse he felt. How had he blabbed about that  _kid?_ That sad, sad little buggar with the heroin addict of a father who was convinced that the police were always the enemy.

"He came at me with a knife," Harvey finally muttered after a few minutes of silence. She was staring at the TV, probably thinking about the game or Bruce and not about the kid that Harvey killed, but he blabbed on nonetheless. "I didn't have it in me to shoot. I just didn't. Dix killed the kid's dad, I went to hold the kid back and instead he went nuts. Wound up cutting me up until I backed into an ottoman, fell on my ass, and he piled on top of me. Started cutting toward my neck with that butcher knife and it was my only choice. It was him or me." Elizabeth stared now, still not speaking, eyes wide but not inimical. "It was him or me." He hung his head.

She didn't hug him or whisper words of comfort. For a few minutes, he wondered if he'd even said it in English. Was he speaking some far-off-never-been-spoken language? Had he even put words in the correct places in a sentence? Did he make sense? She  _worked with kids_ ; she cared for them and he looked like some psycho who gets off killing the city's youngest.

"It still bothers you, even though it's been years," she spoke so faintly. "But you know it wasn't your fault."

"But it was a kid. Doesn't matter if it was my fault or not, there's still a dead kid and that blood is still on my hands." He didn't mean to snap at her, just like he didn't mean to go in that house to arrest the father and wind up shooting a  _kid._   _Jesus!_

She shifted on the couch. "Other officers have done this, too, right?" he nodded at her inquiry. "And none of you talk about it? No kind of support or anything?"

A part of her wanted to ask him more details, try to pull more out of him so he'd feel a weight lifted by letting someone else shoulder the burden of his mistake. However, she knew better. Harvey was not the sharing type, and she didn't dig; if he had something clawing at his psyche, he'd tell her when it got too much. There was a bit of comfort in her knowing that he trusted her. It made all the secrets worth it.

He downed his beer. "Fuck no! This isn't some sharing and caring joint where we smoke hookah and sing kumbaya."

"That's not what this is?" she motioned around them, smiling devilishly. "I have the hookah in the closet for safe keeping. I was waiting for the opportune moment to bring it out." He chuckled while shaking his head. "Honestly, you guys need someone to talk to." She drank more beer and swallowed down the response of ' _I'm sorry'_ and  _'I hope you don't carry too much blame_ '.

He sat straighter. "Come to think of it…" she looked over. "We used to have an on-site psycho-whatever, but he bolted. You wanted a new job? I could probably pull some strings; see if we're still in need." He knew Essen had given up on the search for a good therapist after every application was some Arkham lowlife who thought they knew how to handle cops.  _Liz_ knew how to handle cops, and he could tell by the way she wasn't asking him anything about the kid and the bloodstains on the shirt he tried to clean for months. She'd probably know it was his way of coping. Maybe if he could get the stains out, it would symbolize a clean slate; new start. No murder of a kid, no remnants of The Goat, no nightmares, no dead kids. Drinking helped. For a time.

Lizzy's eyes widened. Was he serious? Things finally felt like they were falling into place. Her good mood made her lean over to plant a kiss on Harvey's cheek.

"Would you do that? My god! If I could get into the police department!" her eyes grew wide. "With my degrees, maybe I'd get a decent pay."

"Oh yeah? Well enough to buy us some actual liquor and not those pre-mixed crap?"

"Honey, I'd buy us a fucking wine bar and stock it to our liking, if you pulled this off."

So it was a deal. Harvey would talk to Cap in the morning and maybe get a nice reward out of this kindness.


	14. Chapter 14

Stupid. Believe it or not, Harvey used to be almost an optimist. And then life hit. And here he was, again, trying to do good and having it blow up in his fucking face. Serves him right. He was a firm believer in karma and, damn, he knew he had a shit storm coming his way from all the hookers and the drug dealing, all the punches thrown at innocents just so he could get information from them, the people he'd killed – it was about time.

First thing, Harvey marched into Cap's office and asked politely if the department could use a psychologist – didn't even throw in Lizzy's name and Essen  _knew_ it was the girl. She asked him why he'd even tried sticking his neck out for a 'friend' and then gave him a long lecture on how young Liz was compared to him; how wrong he was if he thought something was going to come out of this. Told him to find a nice woman his age, settle down, and stop trying to find love in all the wrong places. Said he'd push her too far and she'd leave; said Liz was a better friend than anything else. The woman was being protective of her, he knew – that's what women do for each other and if he were being honest, he knew he wasn't the best suitor for a good gal like Liz, but that's not what this was about anyway. This was about getting a good person a good job and getting a good amount of alcohol from the whole deal.

Yes, last night he'd been expecting a 'reward' from his success, but since when did things work out that well for him? They didn't. They don't. And Essen sent him out of her office, practically laughing. They both knew that cops have an ego and won't vent to some therapist. They didn't when the last quack was here, and they wouldn't for Lizzy.

She didn't answer when he called her, so he left the bad news as a voicemail and thought about mentioning getting a cell phone for her. It was late afternoon and he remembered her saying something about teaching Bruce to fight. Maybe that's where she was. Trying to ignore the annoyance from getting her hopes up (as well as getting reamed by the boss), Harvey continued on the case he and Jim were working. This mask man was shady, and they were going to take him down as soon as possible. Get a little anger out in the process, too, if he had any say in it.

When Bruce and Alfred pulled up, Elizabeth got out of her car and made her way over to them. Judging by the way Alfred's ears were reddened at the tips and the way he was chewing on the inside of his cheeks, Elizabeth knew he was fuming. She watched him give the keys to Bruce and the young man ran to unlock the door, holding his hand as if it were hurt.

"They're bloody talking about his mother now," Alfred cussed loudly as soon as Bruce was inside. "This…this is the last thing the boy needs," he paused. "He's icing his knuckles."

"He hit them?"

"Well, yes, but he told me he didn't do a very good job. Said he didn't even hurt them. So I took him over to the little bastard's house and let him hit the bejesus out of him." Alfred handed a watch to Elizabeth; Thomas Wayne's watch. A bit of blood was dried on the face. "Have I made a mistake?"

Elizabeth shook her head, handed the watch back. "There are no mistakes, just lessons. Is he ready to learn how to have a clean fight?"

Alfred nodded sternly, straightening and ushering the woman inside. Bruce was rinsing his hand under cold water in the kitchen when they entered. Elizabeth walked over to help him clean the scrapes.

"Nothing's broken, right?" she ran her fingertips over his knuckles, examined the pink skin, then stared at Bruce when he didn't answer. "Are you okay?"

"Y-yes," he spoke softly. "It's just that…sometimes you remind me of my mother."

She smiled softly and touched the top of his head. "Well, I won't be reminding you of her shortly; are we sparring today or what?"

A smirk lifted his features. "Yes."

The three worked for hours; using gloves and teaching him to wrap his hands and wrists. Elizabeth taught him a few tricks of self-defense and Alfred taught the boy how to make a proper fist.

"We ought to get some punching bags in here," Elizabeth huffed as she drank water on the couch.

"Mmm, yes, that's a good idea. That way  _we_ no longer have to be his punching bags."

Elizabeth tried to return Harvey's message, but he didn't answer. Working with Bruce was clearly where she needed to be right now, so she didn't mind not hearing good news about a job. She felt like she was trying to find her place. She'd had multiple jobs in her old life in Ohio, but nothing felt right. So much had changed since then, but she still didn't feel like herself.

The rest of the week was quiet: sparring, working with the punching bag Alfred installed, teaching Bruce all that she knew. And then Jim Gordon stopped by with a grim look on his face and a soft ' _hello_ '. Alfred and Elizabeth were standing in the study when Jim showed Bruce a drawing of the man who killed his parents. A girl named Selina Kyle claimed to have seen his face. Jim was asking if Selina could stay. The girl was homeless and a street criminal, which put Alfred on edge.

"No. The answer is no. Her being here would put Master Bruce in great danger."

"Alfred. She's the best chance we have to finding who killed my parents. Then she can stay."

"Yes, Master Bruce." Alfred was slightly flabbergasted, but tried not to show it.

Selina wanted to be called Cat. She leaked sass and arrogance, but had style. Elizabeth was humored by her, but Alfred was not. Kids will be kids, but this  _Cat_ had seen a lot. She was wise beyond her years. The attitude, however, could get on the nerves.

The two girls stood watching Bruce and Alfred spar. Cat was there a good few days and it was becoming normal having her around. The lighthearted air about the moment made Elizabeth smile. Bruce was doing pretty well compared to where he started. Alfred's playfulness surprised her as he took a joking jab at the Master's body. Bruce had been making eyes at Cat for the past few hours. It was obvious.

As soon as the girl demanded food, Alfred's temper showed. Elizabeth was going to offer to make something, but Cat called Alfred 'old man' and she knew this was a teaching moment so she just stood by and watched. When Cat left, Elizabeth took a turn with Bruce.

"Gloves will come off eventually, if I have any say in it," she muttered to the boy. Alfred went after her, pinning her against his chest.

"Yeah? That right, Ms. Sorkin?" he taunted.

When she broke from his hold, she held her hands up, palms out, fingers splayed. He bowed and she curtsied then went to find Cat.

The girl was in the kitchen now, digging through cupboards. Upon Elizabeth's entrance, she halted.

"So you're his shrink?"

A smile, "Yes. What would you like to eat?"

"Do you think you're his mother?" she snapped. "Playing house. I've watched you. It doesn't take a genius to figure it out."

Elizabeth tried to stay calm, she did. But her anger got ahold of her. "You're a guest in this house. You haven't been here long and all you've done is complain. Mr. Pennyworth doesn't need to keep you here. The attitude is getting a little overbearing, Selina."

"It's  _Cat_."

"Cat, Bruce needs a good support group, not another family. I'm trying to be his  _friend_. Maybe you should take notes." And she left for the evening after saying a quick goodbye to Bruce and Alfred.

When she got home, she called Harvey and asked him to come over and watch the baseball game that was on. One of his favorite teams played a 7 o'clock game and she knew he was getting off soon. Harvey hadn't expected to hear from her, as he hadn't heard from her in quite some time. Jim told him that she seemed comfortable in the Wayne's home when he paid a visit the other day, but otherwise he'd heard zilch.

She'd ordered a pizza. He let himself in, trying to offer back the key, but she wouldn't let him. There was beer waiting and the TV was blaring in the living room.

"Been keeping yourself outta trouble, Ohio?"

"If I say 'no', what harm befalls me?" she joked. "I may or may not have put Selina Kyle in her place today."

"And I may or may not be surprised it took you this long to do so," he laughed, paying attention to the game.

Elizabeth's eyes widened. Jim had mentioned something about keeping quiet - Cat wasn't supposed to be here anymore, but Jim basically pardoned her. So she focused on the game and pretended like she hadn't said anything. Harvey seemed like his head was somewhere else. Thank God he hadn't caught her slip up.

Harvey sat comfortably on the couch, beer in hand, sipping occasionally, watching the baseball game after finishing up his pizza. Lizzy's place was cozy and he found it more so now that he had a key. Call him crazy, but it was like he could pretend this was his place, instead of his little shit apartment.

Lizzy walked by, blocking his view of the screen momentarily, then she threw herself on the couch beside him. He did a double-take. The woman was in shorts and a t-shirt, sipping on a wine cooler, eyes fixated on the game, right leg arched up beside her. He'd noticed she began stocking her fridge with Labatt. See, she wasn't the only one who could analyze things.

"You're a baseball fan?" he finally mentioned it. After the time at the diner that one night of truth-telling and a few weeks back at her apartment, he kinda figured she liked the game. Or she was keeping up appearances.

Lizzy scoffed. "Yes, and I don't think your team is gonna pull this off," Harvey narrowed his eyes. "What!? It's the bottom of the eighth and they're down by five."

"Skeptic." He sipped his beer.

"Realist," she corrected. When a commercial came on, Harvey found himself glancing over at her legs. It was the first time he'd seen her in anything but dresses, slacks, or jeans. Even the workout outfit a few weeks ago didn't show this much skin. Maybe a moment's glance at her sports bra-clad torso, but nothing like this. These were decently  _short_  shorts. She hadn't caught his gazes until the commercial break was over. "Harvey…?" her voice was slightly flirtatious and it made his eyes widen and snap to her face. She shifted, setting her wine cooler on the end table. "Were you just ogling at me?"

"What? No! I…"

"You were." By now, she had slipped her other leg off the couch and began inching her way towards him. He expected a slap or a punch on the arm, but when she climbed on his lap, he almost lost it.

"Lizzy..."

Only she didn't reply, just inched closer until she planted one on him. Cold hands were on either side of his scruffy face, soft lips punitive against his. He was so surprised that he let it last a few moments more than his alert mind would have. Before he broke away and kissed her again, he pulled back completely and hung his head against the back of the couch. Elizabeth took this as an opportunity to kiss his neck, which was a big thing for him, but he warningly pressed his hands against her hips and shook his head. She stopped instantly.

"Liz, I-I can't." Harvey's voice was dull and a tone Elizabeth had never heard before.

Her brown eyes were wide as she shifted off of him, back to her space on the couch. Harvey noticed the look on her face – like a scolded dog.

"Harv, I'm so sorry." Her fingers were against her lips. "That was inappropriate, I shouldn't have-"

Pushing himself up, he threw on his jacket. "I should go, before I do somethin' stupid."

Instantly, she was up too, following behind him and calling his name to get him to halt, but the door was slammed before her long legs could make it to the foyer. As soon as he was out of eye-shot, Harvey slammed his fist into the brick beside her door.  _Damn, damn, damn._


	15. Chapter 15

Elizabeth couldn't forget the feel of Harvey's beard against her face or how glorious his lips felt. The slam of the door when she left for work that morning reminded her of him, too - his anger and probably disgust. She threw herself at him, for God's sake. This wasn't some romantic comedy. She probably ruined their friendship. How does one come back from that?

Bruce was in a good mood today. He and Cat had gotten along quite well for the time she was there, minus a few moments. They'd had a food fight, Elizabeth had heard, but they were generally content as of late. She tried to shake off her bad mood and put on a smile. Everyone else seemed to be having a decent day, so she decided she could too.

When the doorbell rang, she sat with the kids in the study as Alfred got it. In the time she'd been working for them, the doorbell had never once rung. It was curious and when he'd been gone for a few minutes too long, she chose to investigate. Sure, maybe she was overreacting but better safe, they say. As expected, the kids followed her. Perhaps it was Jim coming to speak with Cat. Instead, a woman stared at the three of them from the bottom of the stairs they descended. Elizabeth stopped, hand out at her side to stop the kids from coming any farther. She felt silenced, hoping they could creep back up the stairs. Something didn't feel right.

"Alfred, is everything alright?" came Bruce's voice, to Elizabeth's horror.

"No, Master Bruce, this lady's been involved in a car accident," Alfred spoke. Elizabeth got to the bottom of the stairs just as the woman's face seemed to lift in a sadistic smile. She glanced back at the kids. Alfred noticed. "Run! Run!" he called to them, but Elizabeth did not leave. Thankfully, the kids darted off.

She stayed while Alfred fought with the woman, trying to find the opportune moment to jump in. The woman was very quick and she knew so many new-age fighting skills, but Elizabeth was angry and it took her a few moments to tackle the woman to the ground. She got a few good swings in before the woman knocked her down. A man ran in the open door, kicking Elizabeth in the ribs then going after Alfred.

The woman charged up the stairs after the kids then. Elizabeth ran after her, thanking some higher power that the kids got a head start. Breathing heavily hurt her ribs slightly, but she pushed on.

"Get back here, you bitch!" she was just egging her on, hoping to distract the woman for a few more minutes.

This did get her attention, and she halted. Elizabeth was quick; knocking her against the wall and pressing into her jugular. However, the woman pulled a knife on Elizabeth and cut at her arm. Reflexes worked and she instantly pressed her palm against her oozing wound, seething in pain as the woman got away and continued her search for the kids.

They were probably after Bruce. His money, maybe. Elizabeth felt lost in this place, especially without Bruce or Alfred to walk her through the halls. Where did that boy go? She hoped somewhere far. She hoped somewhere  _safe_.

Following the woman and another man she hadn't seen before, Elizabeth found her way outside. Her throat was dry from the gasping while running, but she pushed on with determination. She almost caught the man, grabbing at his jacket and pulling him back, but he broke free. Bruce was in the clearing before the woods.

"There!" the woman called, clearly seeing him too.

"Bruce, keep running!" Elizabeth called desperately after the two. Cat was with him. Jim had mentioned that she knew her way around Gotham. All Elizabeth could hope was that she'd keep him safe.

Gunshots sounded, making Elizabeth startle then turn to see Alfred shooting after them. The woman pulled out a gun and shot him right in the arm. Elizabeth saw the blood spurt out, saw the pain flash across Alfred's face, and didn't think. Anger flared inside of her as she lunged at the woman and fought to disarm her. When she succeeded, she aimed the gun at the woman and tried to catch her breath.

Another shot sounded. She thought it was Alfred until she felt a sharp pain in her shoulder. The other man was standing just beyond the woman and he lowered his gun. Elizabeth didn't lower hers, despite the pain coursing through her. She shot only for the gun to make a clicking sound. It was out of bullets. She almost screamed out of frustration then.

The woman laughed then turned and followed after Bruce and Cat. More gunshots sounded from behind her and she flinched as the man went down. Elizabeth threw her gun on the ground, held her shoulder and felt the blood leaking all over her palm, but she ran. Her legs carried her into the woods, but she grew tired and weak; shaky legged and sweaty and hopeless. The kids were long gone and the woman continued to run. Alfred was beside her in seconds, calling desperately for Bruce into the echoing forest.

She cried, then. Slumped down in the grass and sobbed. For Bruce, for her useless attempt to save him, for the throbbing in her shoulder, for feeling unsafe once again. And Alfred was there, shushing her and embracing her and pushing on her wound to stop the bleeding. He carried her into the manor and then called the cops.

They were on the scene in minutes, searching the woods. Jim Gordon walked in and Elizabeth instantly tensed. That meant Harvey was here. That meant he'd see her in this useless, pathetic state and think even less of her than he already did. She tried to stand and leave, figure out how to get a bullet out herself. But Harvey was already rushing in, pushing people aside, and searching desperately for her. He looked so lost – so much older when worry was written on his features.

"Oh, thank God," he huffed, kneeling down beside her and looking her over. He looked a little more relaxed as his eyes scanned her, but then they fell on the bullet wound and the blood. "Fuck."

"I'm fine, Harv," she managed but one of the EMTs started ripping at her shirt and digging in the wound. "God! Damn it!"

Harvey stood, eyeing up Alfred then Jim and shaking his head. Thankfully, Alfred's wound was just a scratch from the bullet grazing his arm, but he seemed more pained by the missing Master Bruce.

The EMT didn't let her stand to interject when Harvey and Jim started yelling at each other. Listening to it made her angrier at the situation. Apparently Jim  _never_  told Harvey that Cat was staying with Bruce. He said he would, eventually, but this just made Elizabeth feel worse about lying to him. She felt so small, with the happenings of last night. She didn't intend the thoughts, but fear crept up her spine at the thought of Harvey not being around anymore. If she kept this up, she'd be alone again for sure.

She wasn't paying attention when Alfred voiced his decision to come with Harvey to search Gotham, but she noticed when the man was towering over her. Her wound was being wrapped.

"I'm taking you home."

She stood, almost knocking over the poor EMT. "No, you're not."

"Yes, I  _am,_ Lizzy. It's not safe out there for you. You could get hurt again."

"She should be there, what with her being the boy's counselor and all. Might help to have her," Alfred chimed in, to which Harvey glared.

So there she was, riding shotgun in Harvey's car, to the precinct. When they arrived, Essen was on Harvey's heels, asking questions until she stopped to see Elizabeth with her shoulder wrapped up.

"What happened?"

And while Harvey and Alfred went to interrogate some street kid, Elizabeth told Essen everything she knew. It only took minutes for Harvey to be back. He whispered something to Essen about  _safety_ and  _employment_  then looked straight at her. A flipping feeling took over her stomach. What the Hell was happening? She breathed, trying to shake it off. Feelings were never good. But when he looked at her like that…

Harvey hustled them back to his car. Alfred didn't take his eyes off Elizabeth.

"So,  _Fish Mooney's,_ yes?" he remembered her name from weeks before, when Elizabeth asked if he'd known her: remembered what Elizabeth said about everyone being capable of becoming dangerous. The deep look in her eyes truly startled him then, and it still shook him to the core now.

"Great," came Elizabeth's less-than-enthused voice.

Harvey spoke, "Look, she's our best bet at the moment. Put your past squabbles behind you."

When they entered the nightclub, Butch's eyes were on Elizabeth the entirety of their walk over, even though he spoke to Harvey.

"Busy day, Harvey. Come back next year."

"Thief we're tracking down," Harvey held up a picture of Cat. "Look familiar? Goes by 'Cat'."

"Nope."

Elizabeth was slightly taken aback by the snippy nature of Butch, but he kissed her hand as she approached him. Harvey inwardly groaned, rolling his eyes and looking away. He'd turned her down last night, convinced himself that he was too old for her and it was nothing but sexual attraction, but he still got extremely jealous. Jealousy was not something Harvey enjoyed.

"Maybe Fish knows her," he offered.

"Fish knows everyone. Fish is busy."

Harvey continued, "She works with one of your fences. A new guy."

"What's a fence?"

"Come on Butch, be  _nice._ Where's Fish?"

Butch stayed silent.

"I once knew a fella named Butch," Alfred interrupted. "We called him Butch, you see, 'cause he wasn't. It was like a joke name."

Butch got pissed then, "I can't tell. Are you threatening me? Is he threating me?" he looked at Elizabeth who stayed silent. Alfred stepped forward, instantly pushing Butch to the ground then holding a knife up to Butch's chin. Elizabeth was almost surprised at how little she flinched. Curious.

"Where is Fish?"

"Right here," came a voice. Elizabeth stilled, blood boiling. Last time she'd seen Fish, the woman told her she wasted her time. Now, she wasn't one for being offended easily, but the way Fish  _looked_ at her after she'd said it – like she was a cockroach destroying her prim and proper nightclub scene – well, that pissed her off. "So, what's the fuss?"

Elizabeth noted the way Alfred breathed uneasily and how a smile came to Harvey's face. And she was annoyed by it. Fish was great if you stayed on her good side, but Harvey had told her a thing or two about the woman, and to top it all off Harvey was basically her sex slave for  _how long?_ No. This structure was not going to work. She knew it would crumble sooner than later, and if she had to be the one to quietly kick the structure to pieces, so be it.

"They're just foolin' around," Harvey said as Alfred helped Butch up. "We're looking for this girl – a street thief – goes by  _Cat_."

"Looks familiar," Fish hummed. "Ah, Elizabeth. How lovely of you to drop by. Come to waste more of my time?"

"Oh, I think you do a good job of that by yourself, sweetie."

"Ladies," Harvey stepped between them. Elizabeth felt his body heat, smelled the leather of his coat, felt calm for a few moments. Her shoulder still ached and now she felt flushed.

So Harvey gave her a shortened version of Cat's story. The way Fish fixed his tie for him and looked him square in the eye aggravated her. She was so tired of this whole 'not talking about it' thing, that it made her head spin. They needed to talk.

"Why in the world would I help you find her, of all people?" Fish asked.

"She has Bruce Wayne with her, miss."

At Alfred's voice, Fish stopped, her eyes as focused as Elizabeth had ever seen them. "Really?"

"Yes, miss. I'm Alfred Pennyworth. I'm the boy's legal guardian. Miss Mooney, we need your help."

And Fish had some sorry excuse for not being able to help because it would infringe upon her personal interests. Elizabeth had enough.

"You will help us." She was desperate. They were wasting time with Fish. Bruce was out there – possibly hurt – and here they were making small talk with a mob boss. What if something happened to the boy? She'd never forgive herself.

"And why would you be involved?" Fish droned. "Are rumors true? Heard through the streets that you're the boy's counselor. Must be quite a wreck if he hired  _you._ "

"Fish, the frustrations we have with one another should not concern this situation. Bruce is out there and if you have any information where he and Cat may be, it would be appreciated if you shared with the class."

"And why would I do that?"

Alfred interjected, "You have a very eloquent gaze, if I may say so," the way in which Alfred spoke to her was very intimate – his deep voice drifting through the air like a sweet vibrato. "I can see that you're not the woman that would let petty self-interest outweigh honor and compassion."

After he finished speaking, Elizabeth noticed that Harvey had been staring at her. She must have looked wooed, must have looked so dumbfounded by Alfred's pretty words and suave voice. Harvey's gaze was hard, jaw clenched. He looked away and Elizabeth bit her lip.

Fish looked just as wooed as she must have. "I'll make some calls. But remember this kindness"

Harvey gave Alfred an approving look, but turned back to Elizabeth and rolled his eyes before leading her to a table and pulling out a chair for her.

"You're into that dude, aren't ya?"

"What!? No. Jeez!"

"Interesting reaction to that smooth talking."

"Harvey,  _you_  walked out on  _me_  last night. I'm sorry, but why would you care?"

His mouth opened, but shut again and he looked away broodingly. "Look, I don't wanna talk about it right now. It's just…" he sighed. "Not the right time."

Elizabeth nodded sternly, looking away and biting at her lower lip. When she looked back, Harvey was eyeing her mouth. He momentarily looked needy. When Fish returned, he stood and ran over to her like a desperate dog. Elizabeth stayed and glared at the table, thinking about yesterday and Bruce and her shoulder wound. Today was not panning out how she wished it would. She couldn't stop her mind from creating worst-case-scenarios for Bruce. What if someone got him? Captured him? Killed him? The body of a young boy thrown in the alley just like his parents had been. How tragic. How  _sick_.

Alfred called for her, so she got up and made her way over to the men who were leaving. She didn't look at Fish.

"Nice seeing you again, madam," Butch spoke.

"You as well, my friend." She brushed her fingers over his cheek and took her leave.

As soon as she got in the car, Harvey sped off. When he spoke to her, he sounded winded. "I'd like to take you home, but we have no time. You're staying in the car."

"Hell if I am!" she called. "I need to help."

The spark in her eye made Harvey sigh. "God damn it! Fine. Go in the glovebox, there's a gun in there. You know how to shoot?"

Elizabeth pulled out the gun. "A Glock, right?" she eyed it and checked the magazine then clicked the round back into place. "I told you: dad was protective. Made me take self-defense and get my license to carry."

Harvey was silent until they pulled up and Alfred jumped out. Almost instantly, they were being shot at. Alfred ran inside while Harvey and Elizabeth ran for cover. It was thrilling to be in the middle of everything. Boy, was Elizabeth a mess. She enjoyed the thrill, just like she did when she was a scrappy teenager. Times had changed, but the adrenaline still made her feel powerful.

When backup came, Harvey made her stay with them, which was a disappointment, though it was safe. She hid the gun on her hip, pulling her shirt back over it so no one would take it or question.

It took a few too many minutes and Elizabeth was getting impatient, but when Alfred emerged from the shack with Bruce, Elizabeth gasped. One of the officers tried holding her back, but she was quick. She ducked under his arm and ran toward the two. She was on her knees, hugging Bruce tightly and trying not to cry.

"I'm so glad you're okay, Bruce," she managed.

And just like that, things got crazy. One of the officers ran over to her, asking for her and handing her a phone. She didn't recognize the voice until they introduced themselves: Essen.

"Can you make it to the precinct? It's kind of an emergency and I didn't have anyone on-hand to call."

"What happened?"

"One of our officers is having a breakdown."

And then there were officers offering to take her there, Bruce and Alfred looking lost and wide-eyed, her trying to scream an explanation to them while an officer dragged her away, and someone named Alvarez driving her there in silence while speeding.

When they pulled up to the precinct, Elizabeth felt like she'd been spinning, but Alvarez guided her inside and shoved her to Essen.

"Captain-"

"He's in here."

She was pushed into some random room that looked so bare and unused. A man paced, his uniform still on, gun in hand, eyes bloodshot, mouth a hard line, breaths coming our sharply from his nose.

"What happened?" she whispered to Essen.

"His pregnant wife left him for another man last month. We had to be on scene for a woman who called to tell us her boyfriend sedated her and tried some chop job of an abortion – it was his wife." Elizabeth covered her mouth and tried not to gasp at Essen's words. "We found the guy tonight. Anthony's wife is in the hospital still. She lost the baby. When he found out, Anthony snapped. We needed help."

"What's goin' on…oh." Harvey's voice was behind Elizabeth. "Fuck."

"Sir?" Elizabeth gingerly stepped into the room. "My name is Elizabeth Sorkin and I'm a psychologist."

"A shrink, Cap? You think this will help me!?" he raised the gun at Elizabeth. Her stomach dropped. The thrill she felt a half hour before was long gone. She heard a gun's safety being taken off behind her.

"Put it down, Anthony," Harvey warned.

"Women, right?" he ignored Harvey's request. "You're all just fuckin'  _nuts!_ Why shouldn't I just take this bitch out too, Harv? Save the world some trouble. Save a man some heartache."

"You don't know what you're sayin', man. Put it down."

"I know what happened to you," Elizabeth swallowed her fear. "I know that you're scared and you're angry. I know that this man is going to get what's coming to him. But I also know that your wife is sitting in a hospital bed with gauze and stitches. I know that she's scared too. And I know that you still care about her."

"No. You're wrong."

"Then why are you so shaken by this? If you didn't care for her anymore, you wouldn't be fazed," she paused. "It's been a month and you probably haven't learned how to sleep alone again, or how to make coffee for yourself alone. You've probably buried yourself so deep in other women or in your work, that this just blindsided you. You're shaken, and that's okay. But, Anthony, this woman  _needs_ you. She needs you to go to that hospital and tell her that everything's going to be okay. She needs you to try and make things right."

He lowered the gun then, eyes focused and watery. "Fuck." And he rushed out of the room, passed Elizabeth who he almost knocked over.

Essen grabbed his gun from him as he passed and he didn't even fight it. Harvey was staring again, but this time he looked dumbfounded. His mouth felt dry and his ears rang. Elizabeth's hands still shook.

"Harvey," Essen spoke. "Remember you were asking me about a psychologist the other day? She's hired."


	16. Chapter 16

Paperwork for new jobs always took so damn long to fill out. If she were being honest, Elizabeth was still in shock. The other day had gone from being shot, meeting with a mob boss to find out where Bruce was, getting a gun pointed at her again, and talking a guy down from an emotional breakdown. What happened to her easygoing days in Ohio, she wondered. But even some of those days were nightmares.

She and Harvey still hadn't talked about the  _incident_ , as she was calling it. He'd called her to inquire about a current background check if she had one done (which, of course, she did. She was a counselor after all – kinda required for the job.) She met with Alfred and Bruce to discuss her hours now. She'd still be able to check in twice a week – as Essen allowed her a few days off a week, but her time was seriously reduced with the boy. He seemed to understand and admitted to feeling a little better as of recently. Alfred mentioned how he'd stopped self-harming and was more focused on his curriculum rather than 24/7 focus on his parents' killer.

Before she'd left after their talk, Alfred made a point to help her with her coat and take her wrists while asking her to stop by for dinner and not to be a stranger.

"You know, you're always welcome here, Lizzy. Master Bruce enjoys your company and I quite like having you here, too. It's nice having another adult in the house."

Guilt settled itself in her throat. Guilt for taking the job, guilt for knowing that someday Bruce would not need her any longer. Friends were nice in Gotham, but how much would that cost her? Starting at GCPD was 'safe' supposedly, but this was just the beginning.

"I hope you know I'm not running because I'm afraid of what happened."

"Right. No...you're capable, Ms. Sorkin," Alfred nodded stiffly. "Capable of being dangerous, as you'd once told me, yes?" He clasped his hands behind his back.

Elizabeth stiffened then, clearing her throat and blinking away memories. "If put in the right situations, yes." She nodded. "I'll be seeing you."

She left with a deep chill running down her spine.

Harvey was having a hard time with everything. First, Lizzy started coming in this damn place to pretty-up the office she was assigned to now. Or, he assumed she was prettying-up the office. He hadn't seen it – hadn't been anywhere near it – even avoided the file room. She was wearing dresses and lookin'  _real_ pretty. And he wasn't the only one who noticed. Alvarez and Tristan were on her every second she was out of that office. She listened to them and even smiled. What did they have in common aside from the air they breathed when they were at work? She was educated and interesting and they were lame-ass, knuckle-headed fucks. And, as he'd been over again and again –  _he had no right to be jealous_. Which made it so much harder.

They hadn't talked about that night. He couldn't talk about it without thinking about her writhing beneath him or pressed against his shower wall, biting at his shoulder while he slid himself into her. So, no, they couldn't speak of it just yet. And no amount of hookers could make him feel any better. As soon as he was done, the condom came off, he'd dress, and speed off before the chick could even find her bra.

Harvey was  _lonely._ And this whole friendship, I'm-gonna-sit-myself-on-top-of-you-and-kiss-your-neck thing just made him realize how badly he wanted someone to hold through the night.

"Harvey, you dreaming of Danishes or something?" Jim's voice interrupted his thoughts.

"Fuck off." He stood and was about to grab his coat, maybe go out for a smoke, when Essen called him. "Yeah?"

"Bullock, you are going into that office or you're not allowed back on this case. You got me?" Essen was using that I'm-done-with-your-shit voice and it never failed, it was always on days he had a migraine.

He was half tempted to argue, half tempted to tell her to shove it, but Jim was there with his hands on his belt buckle and that give 'em Hell attitude all over his face. He'd threatened to throw him in the cell if he didn't go and Harvey didn't doubt it; that was the plan. But it was Essen's call, not Jim's – how much authority did he really  _have_  here?

"Fine." He grumbled, staggering over to the door where Jim stood smirking. "Eat me." They'd been trying to get him to go talk to her all week – since the day she moved some shit in. He wasn't having it.

Her new office wasn't too far into the chaos of the station. It was tucked away, down the hall where the files were located. Anyone could think he was going to pick up some dirt on some case. Harvey was a little jumpy as he made his was over – even stood against the wall outside the open door, just out of her eyeshot. Ed passed, eyeing him skeptically and not turning his back on him, even as he entered the file room, probably to go see Kringle. Harvey raised a middle finger at him.

"Bullock, get in here." How in the  _Hell_ did she know? Harvey held his breath then pushed himself off the wall and stopped in the threshold.

"Do we have to do this?"

"You're scared." Elizabeth raised an eyebrow.

"No!" he looked behind him, felt like eyes were everywhere. His hand reached for the doorknob and he tugged, slamming it behind him then narrowing his eyes at the seat before her desk.

"Sit."

"Shit, you're awful pushy today."

He took a few steps forward, gazed around the room. She hadn't changed a thing. No pictures or paintings, no need for him to bust in with his hammer and nails again. No need to spruce it up. Honestly, Harvey had never been in here before. Back when they used to have an on-hand psychologist, he'd avoid this room like the plague. Passed by it, though. The window was always closed; the desk was moved so if you walked in, the psychologist was facing the wall to the right. Lizzy must have moved it, or had someone else do it. Probably Alvarez. Harvey always thought that facing the entrance was a good idea. Safety and whatnot. The window was open now, too, letting a slight breeze in.

"You're stalling," Elizabeth spoke, bringing his attention right back to her. He sat.

"Was it your goal to make this place as boring as you could? No colorful pictures or one of those Freudian couch things?"

Elizabeth shook her head. "My goal here is to get law enforcement to talk to me about their problems. You work with them – do you think a splash of color and making this place look like an Elementary school classroom is going to make them feel all warm and fuzzy?" she paused. "I did nothing because this is what makes them more comfortable. No change. No high expectations. Sometimes it takes them a half hour to even say one word to me after they've taken a seat."

"So I'm making progress." Harvey's lips turned up into a cocky smirk. He reached in his pocket for his flask and drank.

Lizzy wrinkled her nose at that. "Harvey, why do you think Essen sent you here?"

So she was aware of Cap's interest in him venting. What had they spoken about? Had Essen mentioned the one evening he'd stumbled into her office after a 48 hour shift and sat there, staring at the paperweight on her desk? How he wouldn't tell her what was on his mind. How he held his face in his hands and hid his watering eyes? How it'd been too much? Had she? Likely. And that made Harvey even more guarded. People talked, he knew, but he never wanted Lizzy to know any of these things. He was stronger than these saps that came in and spilled their guts. No, he didn't need that.

"Because I'm a bad boy and you need to punish me." He answered her question with another smirk. Her expression didn't change. "Oh, come on! Why does this have to be so serious?"

"Because you haven't been sleeping. When you do get an hour, you wake up from night terrors, you've been drinking yourself stupid, and you've been showing flat affect."

"Beg pardon?" Flat  _what?_  Was she paying that much attention to him the times he crashed at her place?

She sighed. "You've been lacking emotional reaction." She further explained, "Some people cope with stress by avoidance."

Harvey laughed, "What? You really expect me to believe this? That I'm some A-typical asshole who avoids stress? Stress is my life. I'm  _constantly_  stressed." His voice was rising.

Lizzy nodded, jotting something down. "I didn't say you avoided stress itself, you just avoid talking about it. This is the first step."

"What-what are you writing?" his voice was softer now, peering down at the yellow pad of paper and trying to decipher her cursive from upside-down.

"What makes you stressed?" she ignored his question. "What specifically?"

Again, Harvey huffed. "Right now. This. Sitting here talking about it, like I'm some kinda psychopath. Being cornered into talking about it. You  _writing something down_  about me."

"That's not nearly what this is…"

He interrupted her, "You and Gordon and Essen are all mingling about this; you got me in here. Happy?" his ears reddened from his yelling. He took another swig from his flask.

Lizzy sat back and was silent for a moment. Harvey worried that he'd scared her. "Harv," her voice was soft. "I'm not here to make you feel like this. This isn't what any of us want. We want you to be okay."

"I'm  _okay_." He held the flask up again, but ice cold fingers perched atop his hand and halted him.

Elizabeth stood, rounded the desk, sat herself before his seat; their legs almost touching.

"Forget the notes. Forget the drink." She slid the flask from his hand, put it behind her. "Just us. No Jim, or Essen. It stays here, Harv." Damn, she was good. He was starting to feel more comfortable, but he held himself back. "What scares you about this?"

"I never said anything about fear," he defended.

"Then what makes you anxious?"

Harvey leaned his head back, sighed, looked back at her, ran a hand through his hair. "You're really gonna make me do this," she didn't blink. He exhaled. "All of it. Everything. Comin' in in the morning, knowing that if I piss the wrong dude off I'm a goner…or that I may have to kill a kid." He looked away.

"Harvey," the way she said his name felt holy, "is that what keeps you up at night?" he opened his mouth, looked deeper at the ground. "Killing that kid?" his head snapped in her direction and he jumped to his feet, turning quickly to the door. She was on him in mere seconds; grabbing at his arm, "No. Don't run." He stopped, let his fingers trail up toward her hand. "You can't keep running from this."

He closed the door back up, turned once again. "I'm scared all the time." His voice was deflated. "I'm scared of getting shot by a mob boss. I'm scared of not being able to stumble back to my place at night. I'm scared of phone calls like the one I got the other day." Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "Jim knew to call me, Lizzy, that's why I was there." He shook his head, "Hearing that some bastards broke into the Wayne place, I knew you were there at the time. Just my luck. And then I saw all that blood, Lizzy, there was so much  _blood_."

"I was fine."

"No!" he shouted, which startled her. The way she jumped made him lowered his voice at the next sentence, "No. You weren't fine. It was our fault it happened. Selina brought them there; Jim…"

Elizabeth raised her hand to his shoulder. "Oh, you big goof." She was smiling. "Why do you always take on the weight of the world?"

He threw himself in the seat again, snagged his flask. She let him. "You know I haven't had a friend in upwards of eight years."

"Oh, that's bullshit." She laughed, "You have and you know it."

"Not somebody who'll give me a key to their damn house and say, 'here, you drunken putz, let yourself in'. Who does that?"

She was silent a tick. "I worry."

"And I appreciate it," he admitted. "How's your shoulder, anyway?" She shrugged, unbuttoning her top a few buttons then revealing her shoulder; one, perfect scar. "Ouch."

"I've had worse."

His eyes closed for a second. "And I don't doubt that."

"Do you want to know what I'm afraid of?" she took back her resting position before her desk, buttoning up her blouse. "A phone call. I'm afraid of a damn phone call that tells me that my ex got outta jail and he's b-lining in my direction. It's stupid."

That was all it took. One damn comment to bring it all back. Images of battered women, bloodied children, bodies torn apart, tiny caskets, too-small headstones. Criminals getting off too easy, getting out just to do it all over again. Harvey had seen too much. Just the thought that Elizabeth could have been –  _was_  – one of those beautiful, beautiful beaten women running into a department with fear in her eyes sent him over the edge.

He looked up at her; looked up and sighed. Tears brimmed in his eyes; he looked away, sucked his bottom lip between his teeth. Fear was all over her features. She had never seen Harvey like this. There were a few ways to handle these situations, but for the life of her she couldn't remember her training. That's how it always goes, isn't it? Years and years of preparation, but when the moment comes, it seems off. This wasn't some textbook patient – this was Harvey.

She crouched down before him, put a hand on his thigh, a hand on his wrist.

"Harvey. Oh, Harvey…" she hummed, searching for words. But he pulled her into him – wrapped his arms around her and scooped her up like she was weightless – he set her in his lap. His lips landed on her shoulder, hand rubbing the length of her back as if  _he_  were comforting  _her_. "It's okay, bub, it's gonna be okay."

He didn't sob, didn't sniffle. The only knowledge Elizabeth had that he was crying was his unsteady breathing and the way he wouldn't let her look at him; just kept pulling her back every time she drew away. It didn't last long, not by any means, but Elizabeth's mouth was dry, ears ringing as she held her breath. What was she supposed to do?

Finally, she got to see him – poker face back on. But she'd just had a breakthrough; she didn't expect miracles.

"I'm glad you're here," he spoke finally, voice tight. "Now, can you tell Cap that I vented and I'm good to go?"

This was so wrong of her. Never had she had a patient who literally sat her in his lap. She hadn't taken notes, hadn't even tried making this  _clinical_  whatsoever. The moment she looked Harvey in the eyes, it didn't matter. He looked relieved; like those few moments of a breakdown were just enough to keep him upright. They probably were.

"Yeah. Yeah, sure, Harv."

With that, she stood and allowed him to as well. His hand swiped at the flask, pocketing it before she could protest. He straightened his tie and turned to the door, but she tugged on his wrist and he halted.

Before he could comprehend it, Elizabeth had her arms around his middle, her head pressed to his chest. She was so short, so compact, but warmth filled him. He patted her on the back, kissed the top of her head.

"Thank you."

She pulled away and he walked out, calling to Jim that it was lunchtime.


	17. Chapter 17

Thursday marked a week since he'd fucking  _cried_ in front of her. He hadn't cried in the presence of another since he'd broken his arm when he was eight – and that shit  _hurt_. But stress and fear? No. Nothing to cry over. What a pansy-assed move to pull.

So, he'd been drunk most of the week. And not just lightweight, it's-gonna-wear-off-in-the-morning: drunk. More like falling over, 'oh-my-God-these-steps-are-some-Willy-Wonka-shit, I-can't-move-without-falling-to-my-death': drunk.

She'd made the mistake of giving him that key to the place and he'd made the mistake of reaching for her key instead of his; almost every night that week. The boy scout said something about her being interested in him, considering she didn't just hand that key out to any open-handed bloke. For a night, he believed it. That was the first night he'd come there, sloppy drunk, and she ran to her room to put clothes on, squeaking out something about not expecting him. Had she known he was going to show up? Well, no. But she knew it was  _possible._ So clearly Jim had been right and she was putting on a show for him.

And she'd helped him to the room, gave him a bottle of water and some pain meds. Closed the door quietly. What with The Incident weeks prior and the skimpy sleepwear he'd finally seen her in, Harvey had  _good_ dreams that night.

And then he was reminded of her age and he decided, no, she was  _not_ interested. She was just lonely and young and wore nice clothes and smelled good and he needed to stop coming over or he'd never stop overanalyzing every action of hers.

But he stopped over again the next night. Because there was a deal at the bar and he'd had too many shots of Fireball. The key thing was  _not_ a big concern – that's what friends do, Harvey decided. She was a caring person, not the type of person to be interested in Harvey Bullock. Jim was an idiot

Lizzy was tired of wearing long pants around the place, just in case Harvey showed. She liked to be comfortable at night after her shift was over. The GCPD had a lot they needed to open up about and after word spread that she'd 'fixed' Harvey, everyone was lining up to get in her office and tell her about all the crazy crap they'd seen during their time at GCPD. So, usually it was wine and a shirt and panties and some stupid 90s movie until she fell asleep. But Harvey's hours kept her awake and she was  _worried._ Worried because of how drunk he got, worried that he'd vomit in his sleep and choke, worried about where he slept – it was too much like having an infant in the house. An infant she couldn't even be comfortable around.

And damn it – she was still so attracted to him, shitfaced and all. She'd help him out of his leather and help with his gun holder and his belt. Eventually, she had to let him do it. Because of the smell of his cologne and how deep his chuckle was right next to her ear and how arousing the sound of his belt dropping to the floor was.

She was a mess, she knew. But it was her place and her mess and maybe she'd had a bit too much wine the third night she sat on the couch in her silky red robe, but  _damn it,_ she was going to impress him.

She had. He'd noticed. That open-mouthed reaction almost knocked her out.

Harvey was struggling with the key on that third night. He'd remembered crying in her office and felt so, incredibly stupid again that he had to find a cure for it. Left work early to get shitfaced. Sure, he came over at 8:56, but he'd been drinking since 5:00. Lizzy opened the door for him and he stood drunkenly, wobbling a bit before steadying himself. There she was: answering the door in a silky red robe that barely covered her ass. And she helped him get undressed in the spare bedroom – kept his boxers on, but all else off. He had whiskey dick, but if he didn't he would have fucked her right then. Instead, he went to kiss her, wanted to feel her lips again and mean it this time. Kiss her like she deserved to be kissed. But maybe it was the drinks talking and maybe it was the sexy sway of her hips when she walked and that robe fluttered.

He watched her walk straight out the door, but damn did he enjoy the view.

The next night, he didn't come over. Drank, yes, but called for Jim to pick him up – which, of course, he did. Went back to their place. Some nice-ass penthouse with a comfy couch and more booze. Jim kept giving him that 'I'm concerned about you' look and Harvey was out of there when morning came – didn't wanna deal with it. He wanted to stop going to Lizzy's because he couldn't stand the knowledge that it would be so  _easy_ to see those panties of hers under that short robe. But he couldn't take another minute of Jim's pitying gaze or that uncomfortable silence in that house. So that night, he was back at Lizzy's, struggling with the door and finally fumbling through the threshold. At least he didn't drive.

So, yes, the key was a good idea, he'd decided – until he looked up to see Lizzy was just in panties and a wife beater –  _his_ wife beater, might he add. He'd started leaving clothes over once in a blue moon and either she didn't realize the mix up when doing laundry, or she did it purposefully. Judging by the way she was lookin' at him with those bedroom eyes and the fact her pert nipples were poking through the fabric, he could take a guess at which it was.

So there he was, standing in the hallway, coat on, key in hand, buzz wearing off faster than he'd expected, eyes greedily taking in the parts of her body he'd never seen. Like the tattoo on her upper thigh and the shape of her small breasts.

He was tempted to leave then, tempted to turn right around and walk home – walk it off – cold shower for fifty minutes. But that's what he always did and it was like putting a Band-Aid on a bullet wound. He always avoided what he truly wanted because it saved his ass in the end. With a partner like Gordon, lately, his ass was on the line often – there was no saving him now. So what was the point?

They didn't speak. Three strides toward her, and he had her back pinned against the wall. He breathed in that smell of mangos, that vacation smell, and his hands were everywhere; pulling at her shirt, pushing the stray hair from her eyes, cupping her ass. Softly, he pressed his forehead against hers and tried to tell himself to stop. Walk out. Leave the key this time.

But she caught his lips with hers and his need to  _feel_  something again was too strong. He gave in. Kissed her the way he knew she'd wanted him to weeks prior. Damn it, this felt  _right._

"Fuck, I need some water," he spoke between kisses. He'd decided he wanted to sober up for the evening, if this was where it was going. She pulled away, led him into the kitchen and sat on the counter while watching him dig through her fridge. "Wife beater looks good on ya," was the first thing he said after two minutes of silence and a few gulps of water. "Shit, I mean, I…" he sighed, and dragged a hand down his face.

"Harvey…" the way she said his name gave him such a rise. It wasn't right, the way she could get him going like that.

"So we gonna talk about this?" he'd experienced enough women to know – enough  _flings_ – to know that the next step was always defining the relationship. He'd ruined plenty of friendships or almost friendships by telling women he didn't know what he wanted. This would be no different.

She was biting her lower lip while he raised the bottle to his. "No."

"No?"

"What's there to talk about? Why should we complicate this, Harvey?" she jumped down from the counter. His heart was beating in his ears as she grabbed him by the collar. "I like this. As much as you're going to try to deny it, you do too. So stop overthinking."

He kissed her then. Spilled the water on the table from slamming it down so hard, but brushed his thumb across her cheek and tried not to be too desperate. He  _had_ liked it. He liked picking her up and feeling her wrap her legs around him, carrying her to the living room and tossing her on the couch; watching her spread those pretty legs, sliding off his leather, and throwing it on the floor then climbing on top of her. He liked dragging his rough hands over her soft, arched legs, and seizing her lips again.

It wasn't the alcohol that made him feel high, but the soft moans she released when he slid his fingers inside her panties and felt her warm wetness. His erection was straining against his pants – pushing against her hip. A deep groan left him. Liz's eyes were closed, mouth a beautiful 'o' shape, fingers grasping at the straps of his gun holster and pulling him forward.

She whimpered when he pulled away, pupils dilated, cheeks reddened. But he was moving again, feeling her hold onto his shoulders with shaking hands when he pulled down her panties and breathed heavily against her mouth.

"Harvey…" her voice was just above a whisper – so airy and licentious.

"Don't do that," he warned, which netted a concerned stare from Elizabeth "Doll, it's just takin' all I got not to slip myself out and fuck you here and now," he paused. "That voice? Not helping." Now his finger was pressing harshly against her clit, rubbing deep circles.

"Mmm, sorry," she moaned.

 _And_ that, he thought. The moans, the way she was already so wet for him, it was too much too quick. Before he realized it, he was kissing down her arm, tossing her panties to the floor.

"This okay?" he huffed brusquely.

Elizabeth nodded, stimulated by the feel of his facial hair against her skin. And then his mouth was  _there_.

Harvey was a gentleman, and gentleman weren't afraid to eat a lady out.

It'd been so long since Elizabeth's pleasure had been put first. It made her insides weak and a stupid smile flash across her face. Her fingernails were making half-moon shapes in Harvey's shoulders, she was sure. Harvey caressed the skin on her thigh with his hand, drawing the same circles he was making with his tongue.

He'd had her panting, pulling at his hair – gasping – and finally rocking herself against his mouth. A string of cuss words slipped from her as she arched her back. And his  _name._  Fuck, the way she moaned his name.

He was planting kisses on her inner thighs when she pushed herself into a sitting position and rubbed a thumb over his cheek.

She mumbled, "my turn," but he didn't move, just smirked against her skin. "Harv. Up. Now." So he pulled away.

"Already am," he remarked.

Then the buttons of his shirt were being undone haphazardly. Her hands were freezing, but they felt good against his burning skin. "I've always had a thing for these…" she slipped her thumbs under the straps of his gun holster.

"Yeah?" Harvey let out a breathy chuckle as she slid it off of him. "I figured." And she  _blushed_. Her painted nails were reaching for his shirt, sliding it off his shoulders, and her palms pushed into his chest. He fell back against the couch cushions with a huff. She straddled him, biting her swollen lower lip, then kissing him again. Her hand trailed in between them and she expertly undid his belt without even a glance. She fought slightly with the button of his slacks, but soon she was unzipping them and reaching to grasp his shaft. "Oof, wow…" Harvey grunted. "You waste no time."

The look in her eyes was like nothing he'd seen in her. Browns were hazed over, pupils dilated, the ring of amber no longer noticeable. She looked reckless. She looked like something he was used to.

Elizabeth's hand stopped on its travels and she dragged her teeth across his lower lip just before crouching down and pulling Harvey's dick from his slacks. And her mouth was on him, full lips feeling so good against the tense flesh, hands cupping around his shaft as she sucked on his corona. He was all hands again – reaching for her hair and pulling it, dragging his fingers against the skin on her arms, linking his fingers with hers. Contact. He hadn't realized how badly he needed contact.

Harvey loved it when women weren't afraid to play with his balls. Gently, of course, and when Liz cupped them with her free hand, he couldn't help but moan. He'd felt so tense, so despairing, out of habit he reached down and began stroking himself. The movement and her lips on him…and then she stopped.

His eyes opened. He raised his head from the armrest of the couch. She was glaring at him through his gasping.

"What?" his voice was airy, strained. Her eyes were challenging. She moved his hand from his twitching cock and replaced it with hers.

And she matched his pace, putting her mouth back on him and keeping that steady jerking. Her hands were softer than his and this was so fucking  _hot_. So fucking wrong – crossing friendship lines like this. He was tempted to pull back, take over, let his cum drip down his hand and onto his stomach so he didn't cross  _that_ line, but it was too late.

She  _swallowed_.

Harvey liked to be loud, liked to talk dirty when he came, but he bit his tongue and let out a few desperate gasps and moans instead. Didn't wanna scare her off with  _slut_ and  _cocktease._

Liz sat up on his lap then, biting at her lower lip, nervous to kiss him but wanting to. Harvey was not one of those  _Nancyboys_ who wouldn't kiss a woman after she mouthfucked him. Judging by the nervous look on Liz's face, he figured she'd been with those types before. So he planted one on her, trailed his tongue over her lips,  _Frenched her,_ tasted himself and groaned.

"Goddamn it, woman," he chuckled.

She stood, naked from the waist down, and walked into the kitchen. Harvey put himself back in his boxers, zipped his slacks.

"We just passed the Point of No Return, didn't we, Harv?"

The man ran a hand down his face. Laughed. And when she came back with two bowls of ice cream, he was in his wife beater, with the gun holster straps back up, smirking like the Devil.

"Think so, doll."

Her face turned red and she held back a laugh. "You must use your knowledge for good, detective. Teasing isn't much appreciated."

" _Teasing_? You can have this right. Now." His thumbs ran under the straps and pulled.

When she handed his bowl over, she raised an eyebrow. " _Now?_ "

"Well, give me some time to get my…strength back." He grabbed the bowl and began eating while she found her panties and slid them back up.

"So I thought, Mr. Bullock."

Truth be told, Harvey wanted more – wanted to go farther – but he let her sit beside him and cuddle up to his arm. And he waited. Waited for the 'I've changed my mind'. Waited for the 'I'd like to define the relationship'. But it never came.

Instead, he got a few more kisses and gropes, some pain meds for his likely hangover, and one –  _long_  – kiss before she went off to her room and shut the door.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting a bunch one after another again. Sorry for spamming those of you who subscribed!

Two weeks, twelve hours, sixteen minutes ago, Harvey was between Elizabeth's legs. Not that she was counting or anything. Nothing sexual happened between the two of them since, surprisingly. Maybe  _more_ surprising, Harvey still stopped by on his free time. Not that he had much, what with Jim, but he would often accidentally interrupt Liz's counseling sessions with other officers.

Just like today. He'd stopped by twice to ask her something, but she was busy. Jim kept asking him what was with him, but telling him would make matters much worse.

"Hey, Harvey. What's up?" Liz was finally in the office – alone.

He scratched at the back of his neck. "Yeah, uh, I…" he paused for too long. Liz looked at him curiously as she grabbed her purse to leave for the weekend. She was off of both jobs for once and had been telling Harvey for a week how excited she was – which made this even more difficult. "This is stupid," he sighed with a shake of his head. "I have to go for some dumb training meeting in some shit town just outside 'a Albany. It's…pretty boring by yourself and I know my  _partner_ is going to be obnoxious all weekend. Would you…be up for a road trip?"

She was reading too far into it, that she knew. But how could she not? "I'd like that."

"Yeah?" he probably looked  _real_ smart with his mouth open in surprise like that. "Yeah. Okay." He straightened. "Hey, so, Jim was really nosey since I crashed at his place the other week. He's been wanting to know if there's something between us and, yanno, we didn't  _define_ anything."

"So you want me to make sure I don't tell him what happened the other night." Elizabeth tried to bite back the smirk. Harvey thought she would be pissed, judging by the way he was tiptoeing around the subject.

"Yeah."

"Alright," she said with a shrug.

"Was that an alright 'alright' or are you mad?" he followed her into the hall as she went to close her door to leave.

"Harvey, I hate when people are nosey just as much as you. Secret's safe – trust me."

Only maybe it wasn't. Maybe she knew he was going to find out sooner or later and maybe she didn't care too much. Jim was a nice guy and him finding out about their sexual encounter was not the worst thing. However, she left Harvey with a promise to dismiss it if the conversation came up that weekend.

* * *

Jim wasn't convinced when he left that night. Harvey had told him he'd invited Liz, but there was nothing between them. Claimed it was one of those 'I-don't-wanna-be-a-third-wheel' things, what with Barbara tagging along for the weekend.

It was nagging at him that his partner still couldn't be honest with him after all their time together. The older man was guarded, he knew, but it'd be nice if he could let his walls down once every blue moon. The signs were there; Liz and his friendship wasn't typical for Harvey – the man didn't have a friend aside from Jim. Just prostitutes and bartenders when he was paying them.

When he stepped inside the apartment, it was all forgotten. Barbara was high. Again. Tearing things off the walls, pouring wine, blasting music.

Jim was playing damage control now, just trying to get by. And then the fighting started. And the clawing, the swearing. Of course, he wasn't used to it by any means – he'd never get used to coming home to this – but she'd been handling a lot of stress.

It was ten o'clock and he was cleaning up the claw marks she'd made by dragging her fingers down his arms. She walked in. Nights before, there'd been relief and reconciliation. Tonight, Jim flinched at her embrace, closed his eyes and held his breath so as not to smell her perfume. It was around this time that she'd come down, apologize, kiss, make up, slow sex on the living room floor. And that's what she was trying again.

"M'sorry, Jim. I know you didn't really kill that man."

"Yeah." He stood. Dropped the towel. Let the raised red marks on his skin throb at the loss of pressure.

"Wait. Jim." But he was already out of the room.

* * *

Harvey was walking up the stairs to Lizzy's apartment five minutes later than he'd promised. The second he pounded on her door, she opened. So maybe he wanted to kiss her then, maybe he wanted to say 'fuck it' and ditch this stupid trip. But he walked down the stairs with her anyway – carried her overnight bag down and everything. Was it that obvious he was trying to get laid?

"Sorry. Woulda been on time, really, but we got a little extra cargo today."

Elizabeth didn't know what he meant until none other than Barbara Kean greeted her from the back seat.

"Isn't this great!? A nice weekend getaway."

" _Joy_." Elizabeth gave Harvey a sidelong glance as she jumped in the passenger seat.

 _I know_ , he mouthed while starting the car.

"How are you today, Elizabeth?" came Jim's voice from the back.

She smiled. Jim was always pleasant with her. Granted, he wasn't the chattiest individual on this side of the Mississippi, but he always had something interesting to discuss. Often, it was about books he'd read or questions about psychology. This drive was no different. He brought up phrenology and hypnotherapy, asked her about her favorite philosopher and what, specifically, she studied for her undergrad degree. Barbara got a few words in here and there, but mostly watched out the window.

When Harvey stopped at a gas station, he asked Liz to step out and give him a hand with the refreshments Jim was paying for. After he got the cash from the boy scout (because,  _really_?  _He_  wasn't paying for it), he went in with Liz.

"Have you taken a gander at Princess Bride back there?"

Liz shook her head. "Did you want iced tea or lemonade?"

Harvey snatched the tea from her. "Are you listening to me, kiddo?"

"Yes, sadly, and you're still not making sense." She put the lemonade back and grabbed three more iced teas.

"She's pouting. Because  _you're_ talking Jim's ear off."

"What's the problem with that?" She brushed past him and for a second he smelled mango shampoo. The feisty look on her face made him want to kiss her.

" _What's the problem with that_ , she says. They're shaky right now, that's the problem. Last thing I need is a depressed Boy Wonder walking around with some stupid broken heart and a gun in his holster."

"Wait, they aren't doing well?"

Harvey nodded blatantly hard. "S'what I've been tryin'a say! That's why she's  _here_. He felt guilty leaving her again and she's so damn curious about everything he's doing. An' he's not being honest with her, which is where I think he's fucking up."

"Coming from you, that's rich, Harv, really." She got a good laugh out of that. "But, okay, I'll cut the chatter."

They paid with Jim's money and came back to the car. Harvey put in some cassette of some band she didn't know and they drove in silence. The wind whipping through the windows made Liz's dress fly up a bit and she could see Harvey watching from the corner of his eye. She slid it up more and pretended to not be interested. But she heard him groan softly – barely audible above the wind – but there.

Before long, Barbara spoke, "Jim tells me you work with Bruce Wayne. How's he doing?"

"He's…managing. It's been rough on him, for sure. We put him in school and he was being bullied. I think it was too much for him. So we pulled him out and now he's made up his own curriculum."

"Oh?" Barbara said. "Poor kid."

"He's a strong kid. He'll be fine." Jim piped up.

The ride was silent the rest of the way. Barbara had fallen asleep and Jim seemed a bit troubled. Harvey knew how that went – Babs probably gave Jim a good talking to when they were in the gas station; something along the lines of 'what, do you  _like her_ ' and 'you seem to have a lot to discuss'. Women get like that sometimes when they think there's competition. Hell, he guessed everyone could get like that if they were insecure enough in their relationships.

Fuck, he didn't wanna hear about it. He didn't wanna do training for a few hours in the morning – didn't wanna hear Jim talk about his  _problems_. When they arrived, Harvey grabbed Liz's bag along with his and judging by the way Jim was looking at him, this whole  _don't tell Jim_ thing was going to be toast in a matter of hours. He'd pry, as he always did.

If this were some romantic comedy, there would be a screw up with the rooms and he'd end up bunking with her. Sadly, not quite. There was, in fact, a mistake with the rooms, but it was a mistake Jim apparently intended to make. Er – maybe not so much a mistake – more a  _decision_ he failed to inform Harvey on: he booked a hotel, alright, but not just a few rooms like they'd planned. Jim booked a suite – three rooms connecting with a kitchen and a living area, fireplace, balcony – the whole bit.

"I may have let Barbara book the room," Jim admitted as all four of them stood in the doorway of the gigantic space.

And Barbara was  _loaded_. Harvey wasn't paying for this – no way!

"Isn't this a little expensive? Are you sure you don't want me to kick in for my share?" Elizabeth spoke.

"Oh, hush, it's on me, guys." Barbara went right for the minibar and pulled out some drinks for everyone. "Anyone up for some pre-gaming before the fun starts?"

The plan was to grab a bite to eat at some fancy restaurant that – surprise, surprise – Barbara had booked. They'd see some sights, maybe grab some more to drink, then come back to the hotel and rest before the boys' training tomorrow.

Elizabeth did a few shots with Barbara and when Harvey watched, he felt his fingers tingling.  _Damn_. Something felt so familiar, but his memory felt foggy.

He decided he was overanalyzing and should just let up and have a good time.

The girls were tipsy when they went to dinner. Jim didn't find it humorous, but Harvey got a few good laughs. He even carried Liz's high heels for her when she almost fell on her ass. And, of course, as soon as Jim and Harvey were alone, he asked  _the_  question.

"You sure you're not a thing, Harv?" they were lagging behind the girls down the streets of Albany.

Now, Harvey could have handled it better. Could have told him right then and there that he didn't know – it was  _complicated_. These things take  _time_.

"Boy scout, listen to me: Liz and I are two grown individuals who have nothing – whatsoever – going on between us. We get each other, yanno? That's. It." So he was a little rude. But he hadn't yelled, so there was that! Jim just grunted at that. Didn't pester, didn't push. Just grunted. "And what about you and Babs over there? Huh? Things still rocky?"

"Shut up."

Harvey held up his hands in defense but didn't push either.

Dinner was quiet between the men, but Barbara and Liz were chatting a bit. He could tell when Liz's buzz was wearing off. She looked a little less interested in Barbara's conversation and a little more interested in Harvey's tie. So he'd been staring. And she caught him and smirked with that fucking mouth. This fancy restaurant and Lizzy's body in that  _dress_  made him think some unclean thoughts.

Harvey downed his alcohol when Jim caught Liz staring. Something that sounded like a laugh came from the boy wonder's throat and Harvey knew he was on to them.

On the walk back to the hotel, Barbara grabbed Jim's hand and the two stepped ahead of them. They looked very involved in each other, very much in love and Harvey could gag. Lizzy was busy looking at the buildings and watching the people around them.

She'd been so silent, Harvey almost didn't realize she was speaking when she said, "This is the first vacation I've taken since my sophomore year."

"Seriously?"

Lizzy nodded at that. "Columbus was an interesting place, but I love the fast-paced, anonymity of New York. We can be whoever we want. No one recognizes us."

Maybe it was the way her eyes looked in the flashing lights of the buildings and the illumination of her pretty features with the passing car's headlights, or maybe it was the smile she was giving him – the silent ' _thank you_ ' that made him all flustered, but Harvey had never seen Lizzy happier than she was in that moment. And he wanted it to stay. He didn't want to go back to Gotham and worry about her well-being or how things were going at the Wayne's. He wanted this – the wide-eyed woman in a pretty dress and booze waiting at the hotel for them. He wanted to ravage her. Tonight.

So he made some excuse about being  _so tired_  and sauntered off to his room later, hoping the others would do the same. Jim and Barbara shared the room off the kitchen and as soon as he heard that door close, he got up; snuck to the room Lizzy was staying in. She was in the shower.

God, was he tempted to open that curtain. Patience wasn't one of his virtues, but man he tried. Just when he thought he couldn't wait any longer, the shower turned off and he heard her tiny bare feet on the tile floor.

Nothing –  _nothing –_ had looked better than Lizzy with a short white towel wrapped around her, hair dripping, smudges of eyeliner barely there under her eyes. The look on her face was not one of surprise, but humor.

"Thought you'd be here, detective."

"Just have some follow-up questions," he joked.

Tossing her on the bed had been easy. Kissing down her body and throwing that towel to the floor had been as well. So was watching her writhe beneath him when he slipped his finger inside of her pussy. Holding himself back, however, was not.

Lizzy was on edge; with Jim and Barbara in the next room, she knew she had to be quiet. But the way Harvey was making her feel proved that task a difficult one. And when Harvey mumbled against her neck, ' _wanna fuck_?' she had to bite her tongue.

She did. She wanted him to take control and to teach her things she'd never known before, but not here. Not in this hotel room with his friends a door over, not with her hair a sodden mess that was getting the sheets wet. She ran her fingers up his arm, to his shoulder, neck, then through his hair.

"Jim's already onto us," she whispered. "I think we should save it for another night."

Harvey took that harder than he should have. Usually he didn't ask. Usually it was a payment before and a quickie in his car after work, or some girl at the bar that urged him on more than asked for it. At her rejection, he stood.

"Sorry, Liz."

And he was out before she could ask him to stay.

Harvey closed the door as quietly as he could, but nearly jumped out of his skin when he saw Jim standing in the kitchen, drinking a bottle of water.

"Jesus! You putz!" Only Jim didn't reply, he just blinked at him. That's when Harvey got wordy. "Alright, so this doesn't look so good, does it? Well, Lizzy was…feelin' sick from dinner so I went to go check on her." Still, nothing. "I mean, yanno, she was, uh, just…" that fucking  _look_  he was giving him made Harvey squirm. "Look…we're…I don't know."

"Harvey," Jim held his hand up. "You don't have to. I get it. Just…don't get in over your head with this one." And the man returned to his room, leaving Harvey there with a fifth of vodka on the table and a needy feeling in his stomach.

He downed the bottle and stumbled back to his room around 2 a.m. Sleep didn't stay long; he was awake at 4, reeling from another nightmare. The kid got him this time; right in the jugular with that butcher knife and Harvey  _felt it_. Searing at his skin and cutting through muscles.

The pure agony of the metal hitting his carotid artery was what woke him up.

Sitting straight up in bed, sweat clung to his skin and he blinked fast before pushing his palms into his eyes, attempting to rid the sight of all that blood. It didn't matter. Every time he laid back down and tried to close his eyes, the scene would change; Harvey on the wood floor, the gargling of the blood in his windpipe as he tried to warn Dix, watching as the kid lodged the knife straight through his chest, fought for the gun, then turned it on himself. Bits of brain and crimson splattered on the floor next to Harvey; the feeling of agony as he tried to vomit with his throat cut.

At 5:00, Harvey got up to shower, deciding there was no use trying anymore. He'd almost fallen asleep in the shower; arm resting under the spigot, head resting on his forearm, staring down at the drain. And then a flash of those kids he and Jim saved woke him. The water was cold, but he finished washing himself and stepped out. He slapped the mirror, wiping away the steam and staring at the two dark circles under his eyes. Two hours here and there wasn't cutting it anymore.

Dressed in a wife beater and his slacks, he stepped out of his room and into the attached kitchen, fidgeting with his belt. When he looked up, Lizzy was there, stirring creamer in her coffee.

"Good morning, Harv."

"Mornin'." He went straight for the coffee pot, grabbing a cup and pouring some. He drank it black today. When he turned around, the woman stood up and stepped toward him.

"I'm sorry about last night," she whispered. "You can understand my point, right?" Harvey hummed, taking a hefty gulp of the steaming goodness. "That doesn't mean I don't want you." And she was inches from him then, snaking her fingers around his coffee then putting it on the counter. He raised his eyebrows as she kissed him languidly, tracing a finger down his chest and stopping just above his belt buckle. At the sound of a doorknob moving, she pulled away, stepped toward the refrigerator and spoke without even looking up at Jim – as if she expected him to enter at that moment. "What do you guys want for breakfast? I'll call room service."

Harvey was speechless, still feeling her there on his lips, but gone too soon for him to get  _too_ excited.

"Bacon and eggs sounds pretty good right about now," Jim eyed Harvey, looking for the slightest sign of anything, really, but found nothing. "Barbara, pancakes?"

The woman came out dressed in something expensive and agreeing on food, but Harvey was still taking Lizzy in; her ripped skinny jeans and bare feet, painted toenails, fitted v-neck hugging her curves just so. Harvey liked when a woman didn't have to dress up to be beautiful.

 _Fuck_ , what was he thinking?

Liz called for breakfast and went to watch TV, coffee in hand. Jim went to shower as Harvey decided to join the girls, taking a seat on the couch next to Lizzy. She and Barbara were discussing their plans for the day: manicures, of all things. Harvey was bored if he were being honest. Shopping and manicures didn't pique his interest, so he closed his eyes.

Elizabeth wasn't adding much to the conversation. She knew this woman wouldn't just let her do her own thing that day, and she felt bad that Barbara and Jim were having a hard time, so she decided to be nice and let Barbara plan their day.

And then Harvey's head was on her shoulder and she was blushing –  _so embarrassed_ – because they were trying to hide this and here Harv was in plain sight! When she glanced over, she noticed Harvey's eyes were closed and his breathing was even.

"Is he asleep?" she asked Barbara, who nodded slowly.

"I think it's kind of cute!" the woman remarked.

 _Cute?_  No. Elizabeth was concerned. She knew Harvey had sleeping problems, she'd noticed them before. Worry tightened her throat, but she remembered Barbara was in the room and continued their conversation quietly, feeling Harvey's breath on her neck.

When Jim came in the room tying his tie, his eyes were glued on Harvey. Even as Barbara kissed him in greeting, even as Lizzy stared at him with a deer-in-the-headlights look.

"Harvey!" he finally called boisterously. The man nearly jumped to his feet, expression one of terror.

"Oh, uh…you ready?" his groggy voice and lack of defensive jab made Elizabeth narrow her eyes. Was he alright?

"Well, yeah. I'd prefer not to be late in front of these big-wigs," Jim huffed.

Harvey stood then and Elizabeth followed him into his room. He grabbed his hat, badge, and threw a dress shirt on.

"Anything I can help you with, Ohio, or did you just come for the view?" he remarked.

Elizabeth shut the door, which made Harvey turn to her, mid-button.

"Okay, I'm not one to push, and you know that, but  _damn it_ , Harvey, is everything alright?"

Harvey looked away then, undoing his belt to tuck his shirt in his pants. "Look, nothing's going on."

"Clearly."

He stared at her then, unblinking, hands working methodically to tuck in his shirt, button his pants, clasp his belt. "Not the time, Lizzy." He didn't even sugarcoat it, didn't even try being gentle with her. It actually came out kind of harsh, but Liz didn't flinch. "You go have your little girl's day and I'll see ya tonight." As he reached for the doorknob, he heard her step toward him. He looked at her again, stared at those brown eyes and the fire he'd likely lit within her. "Don't push," he whispered, noting that the boy scout could very well be on the other side of the door listening. "It'll get ya nowhere."

As he opened the door, she stepped through it, pushing passed him.

For Elizabeth, the day wasn't very enjoyable. Her nails looked great, sure, but Barbara was a little nosier than she liked, not to mention she was totally fine with sharing too much about her and Jim's relationship. Not to mention she offered her a joint and smoked it in some back alley. Their plans took them through the day however, so when they returned to the room, the boys were already back. Liz was frustrated, actually, but she wouldn't show it. Call it professionalism or idiocy, but she approached Harvey and Jim like nothing was wrong.

It wasn't that Harvey had been  _pissed_ , per say, it was just so frustrating that people always wanted to get in his head – fix him! Throughout the day, Jim was, as always, professional for the training meeting. Waking him up when he started dozing, taking notes like this was some college course; it was truly sad. But as soon as they got out of that almost-all-day thing, he was on his heels, asking questions:

"Okay, I thought you said you were getting more sleep." He'd trailed him to the car and damn it, did Harvey wish he'd made the kid drive himself this whole trip.

"Yeah, well, I was. But shit happens."  _More_ sleep didn't mean  _tons_ of sleep. It meant maybe ten minutes here, three hours there…

"I really think you should talk to someone. Lizzy would-"

"-Lizzy would  _what_? Tell me how fucked up I am? Tell me that I need sleeping pills and a psych eval? Walk out after she hears the shit I've done?" So maybe he hadn't meant to speak that last part. And  _maybe_ Jim could have overlooked it, but of course: no such luck.

"Damn it, Bullock!" and he had him by the collar, pushed him up against the car like he was a common street thug. "When are you going to start realizing that people  _care_ for you? Huh? When it's too late? When you're  _dead_?" To Harvey's surprise, Jim let go and got in the car.

And Harvey stood there, blinking, watching as other officers passed, heart thudding in his ears. He pulled out a cigarette, lit it, shuffled from foot to foot as he let the nicotine do its job. He took a good two minutes to get behind the wheel, cigarette between his lips as he started it.

He drove back to the hotel, one hand out the window, one on the wheel, stuck in his head and forgetting the stupid cig until he felt the ashes burning his fingers. He dropped it out the window, rubbed a hand down his face.

"That was a step over the line," he was the first to speak. "But I guess I needed that."

"Yeah. You did." Jim was doing that stoic thing with the clenched jaw and the relaxed fingers.

"Doesn't mean I'm gonna get help, you know."

"Oh, I'm well-aware."

So he'd managed to piss off two of the three on this trip, and he was sure that Barbara had managed to get some information out of Lizzy about their…thing.

Jim didn't speak to him the rest of the way, and he deserved it. The silence wasn't pleasant, and guilt was eating at Harvey. So, he took to the bottle when he got back. Started drinking before the girls walked in the door, and was thrilled when they asked to join him.

"You look…better," Lizzy managed as she approached the man. She was walking on eggshells. The way he spoke to her earlier meant that he was ready to blow. "How'd it go?"

"He slept through about an hour of the presentation and ate two plates of the complimentary meal," Jim said. "But otherwise…"

There was something odd about the look on Jim's face. Barbara didn't seem to notice as she pulled Jim aside to show all the new clothes she bought herself.

"Get anything nice?" Harvey grunted as he watched her pour herself a mix of rum and Coke.

"Yeah, I guess," she took a long drink. "Few dresses for work, nothing too thrilling."

Harvey nodded, drinking too. "Sorry I brought you."

This made Elizabeth sit on the arm of his chair, their legs almost touching, his hand resting behind her ass. "Why?"

"I worried you, and for that I apologize."

She shook her head. "Stop. Seriously. It's fine. I just wish you'd let me in on what's going on."

There was a long pause between the two of them as Harvey bit the inside of his cheek. Jim's words ran through his head. "I get these nightmares…" he started, taking another drink and wondering why he was even about to start. "There's a few. They're always the same situation; same memory…but they  _change_." He waited for her to interject so he could lose his courage and forget the whole thing, but she was silent.  _Damn it_. "One time I'm running scared and I get out before shit gets bad, the next I'm being slashed by a butcher knife or shot through the back of the knee and tortured with buzz saws and daggers."

And, fuck, was that a trigger for Elizabeth. She heard every word Harvey spoke, wanted to reply and tell him that PTSD can do these things, but her breath caught in her throat as her mind flashed back to that  _smile_ and those hands. She felt the tightening as he choked her, felt the gouging of hangnails digging into flesh, saw the pointed knuckles of a fist just before he gave her a black eye.

She stood, drink shaking in her hand. Switching hands to hide the trembling didn't help, but she covered her mouth and tried breathing evenly to steady her heart.

"Liz?" his voice was hushed, hands coming closer to her arm. She could feel the heat, she could hear the heavy footfalls as he came behind her, touching her. With a jolt, she startled and saw the glass fall to the floor. The shatter sounded loud and heat flooded to her cheeks.

"I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry." Coke was stained on her jeans, dripping down, but she was concerned about cleaning the mess.

"I'll get it, sweetness, go change." The comment left Harvey's lips before he realized it. And Lizzy was blushing harder and trying her damnedest to leave before he saw, but he  _did_. Boy, he wanted to vomit right then. What the Hell was going on? Why the Hell was he feeling these things and saying these things? He was too sober to blame it on anything but himself, which ate at him.

When in her room, Elizabeth shoved the jeans down her thighs, tossing them to the floor. She pushed her palms into her eyes and breathed a shaky breath. It'd been so long since she'd felt like a  _mess_. It was a part of working with patients; she didn't have to talk much about herself. Of course, she'd met many messier people, but sometimes she worried that she needed a shrink. Elizabeth didn't have night terrors often, but when they hit she struggled to sleep for a few days.

Harvey entered her room to avoid Barbara's questioning after he threw away the broken glass and wiped up the spill. Of course they'd heard. Of course they'd questioned, and Harvey knew that if he didn't leave then he'd be blubbering on about his ' _sweetness_ ' comment and no one needed that right now. Lizzy wasn't in there, so he rounded the corner to see her sitting on the edge of the tub, covering her face with her hands, elbows on her bare thighs.

"Lizzy, I said the wrong thing." He was quiet as he knelt beside her, afraid to touch her, trying to put all the blame on himself and feeling bile rising in his throat.  _Get out, get out, get out._

When she looked up at him, her eyes didn't have tears as he expected. She looked haunted. She shook her head.

"No, Harvey," she smiled –  _smiled_! "We're more alike than I'd like to admit."

He paused. "Ouch."

A laugh came out of her; short but there. "I've had night terrors for a little over a year now."

A dozen questions ran through his head, but one came out: "How…? How do you deal with it?"

She shrugged. "Distractions. Work." Harvey looked down, not being able to take his eyes away from her thighs. "I should clean up," she took a washcloth, wet it, and began wiping at her thighs. She paused a moment, then went right back to it. When she spoke her voice was hushed. "My nightmares are usually about my memories."

Harvey hummed, "Mine too."

He stood then, taking her hand gently, then staring into her eyes as she stood. They both knew what the other was thinking: it was a silent acknowledgment of their understanding of each other. He knew she didn't want to talk about it, and neither did he. Maybe someday. Maybe eventually. But for now, he just kissed her.


	19. Chapter 19

Monday morning came quickly, the weekend trip not forgotten. Elizabeth had felt relieved telling Harvey about the nightmares. Sure, it was terrifying and neither of them planned on talking about it any time soon, but it was  _good_.

The last person she expected to be leaning against the wall outside her office was Jim Gordon. They'd spent the weekend together so surely he had his fill of psych-talk and philosophical gab. She watched the man straighten when he heard her heels clicking down the hall. He turned to greet her, smiling but it didn't reach his eyes like usual.

"Good morning, Jim. What can I do for you?" she figured the visit was about a perp or Harvey.

"Barbara left."

She let him in quickly, closing the door and starting a pot of coffee, sitting in the seat beside his instead of across the desk. He didn't take much coaxing, actually. Jim explained quickly the downfall of their relationship. From the lying to the secrets, lack of time at home, amount of work, her drinking, her drugs. After all of it, this weekend was the final straw.

Elizabeth poured a cup of coffee for him when it was ready. "Jim, I'm so sorry."

"Nah. It's…" he sighed, "it is what it is. I just needed to get something off my chest, you know? Harvey isn't the best confidant." He made a face and drank the coffee.

"I can believe that…" she almost laughed.

"Dunno if you've heard, but I've royally pissed off the wrong people and now I'm being sent to Arkham." Jim said after a short pause. "Gotta pack up my desk today."

What did this mean for GCPD? They needed Jim. He was pushing them toward great things. What did it mean for Jim's career? What did this mean for Harvey?

"And are you happy about this?"

Jim finished his coffee, standing up and placing the mug on her desk. "No."

He was gone after a softly spoken well-wish. Elizabeth had a half day at GCPD and by the time she left, Harvey was leaving the holding cell, covering his knuckles with his other hand.

"How's it goin', Ohio?" he asked, walking beside her as she made her way to the door. She gave him a look, nodding at his hand. "What? This? …scum pissed me off." He revealed the blood caked on his knuckles.

"Just be careful," she suggested before leaving to the Wayne's.

And that's how it went for weeks: work, more work, lack of Jim, Harvey going on cases himself and being reckless, bloodied knuckles by the time his shift was done, ice packs on his bruises, migraines for days. He stopped coming over. For a few days, Lizzy hadn't seen Harvey outside of work, he was spending nights at his place drinking and trying to convince himself that he didn't worry about Jim. The openness about his nightmares earlier was also making him feel like a damn idiot. And learning about Liz? That made nothing better. Now he was concerned about her past. What else had made her so haunted? Did he  _want_ to know?

Arkham gave him an ill-feeling in his stomach. It always passed, as he hoped Jim's time at the place would. And it did. They worked a case together after a week or so and just like that Jim was back – starting drama with Loeb – but back!

Harvey was in good spirits with his partner back in rotation, but he was not expecting the grim look that met him when he went to visit Lizzy that night. She greeted him with a beer and dinner, sitting him down. He knew what was coming. The 'I think we should see other people' talk. The 'it's not you, it's me and I'm not interested anymore' talk. The 'I found someone handsome…young' talk. The 'I'm-bored-with-us' talk. The 'you're-too-fucked-up' talk. And it killed him. He was half tempted to get up and walk out now – end it before she could. Whatever this was, it wasn't good for him and it sure as  _shit_ wasn't good for her. Go back to being friends, Harvey, things get too complicated when you're foolin' around. He should know that better than anyone.

"I got a call from Arkham today. They want me to start Monday," she said. Harvey almost choked.

He coughed. "With this meal, I'm assuming you said 'yes'." It didn't stop him from eating it though.

She nodded slowly, eyes casting downward, guilt and fear mixing together in the pit of her stomach. "I spoke with Essen today and they're going to work with my schedule. Arkham is desperate for someone, so they're letting me work at GCPD still because I demanded it."

"Are you gonna be able to balance all that?"

She shrugged. "I'll find a way…" there was a distant look but she shook it off. "My bills are coming due. This place looked a lot better when I thought I'd be able to afford it."

The apartment was huge, a lot bigger than Harvey's, but he'd just assumed she could handle the financial burden, what with her degrees. But student loans were a bitch.

Harvey touched her hand, running his fingers across her knuckles. "I know you were looking forward to this – don't let me bring you down. I'm proud of you."

She lit up, smiling widely and practically launching herself into his lap. They hadn't done this in a while. He'd been too tired, she'd been busy working…it was a long time coming. And he was kissing her within seconds. The food long forgotten, he hoisted her up, letting her wrap her legs around him while he carried her to the bedroom.

There was the question again, " _wanna fuck?_ " – Harvey's gruff way of asking permission. This time, however, she said yes, started whispering that yes she was on birth control and everything was okay  _down there_ , and he had to cover her mouth with his large hand to get her to stop.

"Sorry," she whispered.

And he knew she was nervous. So he helped her slide out of every bit of clothing, staring at her in the moonlight that filtered through the blind slats in her room. Her body was tone: wide hips, small perky breasts,  _great_ ass…

He let her help him with his belt, although he was completely capable. Her hands were shaking slightly, fingers trembling, but she got it undone. He kicked it all off – shoes, socks, and all – and stood in his wife beater and boxers.

"You've done this before, right?" He was on top of her now, hovering over her as he kissed down her thighs.

"Yeah," she nodded. "Not in a while, but yeah."

He settled himself between her legs, spreading her lips and reacquainting himself with her pussy. Lizzy was overwhelmed by pleasure – her fingers desperately trying to reach for him, but falling short, breaths escaping that sounded foreign to her. Again, Harvey was putting her pleasure first. Again, she was thrilled by this.

But he stopped right when he felt she was close to climax. He ditched the boxers, climbing his way back on top of her before feeling her hands pulling at his shirt.

"Off," she demanded. And usually Harvey felt self-conscious about the weight he was carrying in his belly now, but he let her remove that too.

He kissed her while sliding himself inside. It'd been such a long damn time since he'd fucked someone and had genuine  _care_ for them, not to mention the lack of condom. It'd been years since he'd pulled that stunt. This time there was no rush to get himself off first, no rush to get in and get out before the guilt settled itself between his shoulders, or worry of paying for an extra hour. No worry of where he would sleep that night. Harvey knew she'd ask him to stay. And he would, in a heartbeat. Her bed was so comfortable.

Of course, he started slow since she seemed tentative. He was a very tactile person; always had to be touching, feeling. His hands traveled from her hair to her soft skin, breasts, then he squeezed her ass and picked up his rhythm.

Lizzy never had a man make her come when he was topping; she'd always fake an orgasm or if she were feeling powerful she'd wrestle her way on top and work herself into a fit. She knew Harvey wouldn't disappoint. And he didn't. He was very aware of her pleasure, taking time to  _listen_ to the noises she made and know just where things felt right. She'd finally caught her breath from the first when Harvey pulled away, turned her over, and slid right back inside. His hand slipped between her and the mattress, feeling for her clit.

Harvey was burying his face in her neck, kissing and biting while he slammed into her. She was overwhelmed with pleasure and came once more, loudly shouting his name. Harvey knew he was done for then; knew that he'd been wanting this for  _so damn long_  the tension he'd felt was about to be relieved. And sooner than he'd like. He'd wanted to fuck her senseless for hours, but he just wasn't going to last. The way she felt, the way she moved and breathed and  _moaned_. He was staving off as long as he could, but soon he was pulsing inside of her. He couldn't help the moaning and breathing and calling her 'cocktease' and 'sweetness.'

The room was spinning when he settled himself beside her, pressing kisses into her shoulder. Their breathing filled the empty space as she smiled over at him, cheeks reddened. Heat bubbled in Harvey's chest, a falling feeling settling beneath his sternum. They lay there for ten minutes – Harvey had watched the clock wondering if he overstayed his welcome – breathing and touching each other gently, her hand running through his hair, his fingers tender against her hips. She'd kissed him on her way to freshen up in the bathroom and he didn't even consider following, but he watched her go. As soon as she was out of eye-shot, he ran a hand through his hair, down his face, wiped his lips with the back of his fist. He still tasted her, sweet and womanly. A soft chuckle escaped him while she was gone.

What was he  _doing?_

It was a struggle to keep his eyes open until she came back, but he managed. She'd been gone for what felt like all too long, but was probably more like five minutes.

"Was that good for you?" He never asked a woman that. He never asked because he didn't really want to know. If they were moaning and he felt her tightening around him and pulsing, he figured it was fine.

Elizabeth's eyes went wide. "Is that a serious question?" she chuckled, but his lack of response made her stop. She climbed on top of him, creamy thighs straddling his thick ones. And his hands went to them instantly. He bit back a moan when her fingers splayed over his belly. He'd never been touched so intimately. She leaned down, breasts pressing against his chest and he decided he loved the way her nipples felt against him. Her mouth was on his once again, but it was a deep sort of longing kiss; one of those ones you see in movies. She went to his neck then. "I have never felt that good before, big boy," she whispered. "And I'll be damned if I don't feel that way again."

That floored him. The name-calling and the bare breasts, the bedroom eyes, messy hair, and sleepy voice…Harvey felt himself growing hard again and she clearly felt it too, considering he was pressed against her thigh. She raised an eyebrow after sitting up on top of him.

"Apologies," was all he managed. It usually didn't happen to him. It was usually a half hour or so until he was ready again, unless he was really feeling aroused still, which was apparently the problem. "Would it be entirely inappropriate for me to ask you to ride me, Ms. Sorkin?"

She bit her lip, shifted her hips without even losing eye contact, and easily guided his hand to her pussy, asking him to get her ready.

And  _oh,_ did he oblige.

* * *

Harvey always found the second orgasm of the day to be more powerful.

* * *

She liked the name-calling. She liked being rough. She liked what he liked and that made him want to hide her away as his own plaything for the rest of however-long-this-lasted.

* * *

By the end of the night, their vision was so blurry from exhaustion, they couldn't even tell what time it was, but he wrapped her in his arms and he  _slept_.

Lizzy was never really used to people sleeping in her bed, so she'd woken up a few times during the night. One of those almost-nightmares was itching at the corner of her unconscious, but as soon as it made itself known, she startled awake. Harvey was on his back, snoring. A soft smile lifted her features as she snuggled into his side, ignoring all the thoughts in her head telling her this was too quick and  _push him away, kick him out!_

When soft light shone through the blind slats and onto Harvey's face, he stirred awake and looked at the clock: 10:32. He'd slept all night. As he turned over, he came face-to-face with Lizzy – a sleeping, peaceful Lizzy, hair a mess from last night, covers barely concealing her breasts, lips parted slightly. She looked like a goddess and Harvey took a minute to ogle.

She woke up when she felt him running his fingers through her hair, then behind her ear, to her neck, up to her cheek. His thumb rubbed gently as her eyes fluttered opened.

"Mornin', doll." Harvey must've just woken up, Lizzy thought – his voice was even deeper than normal, laced with sleep.

She didn't kiss him like she wanted to, that would be overstepping her bounds. She let the covers slide down her as she reached over him for his shirt, slipping her arms in.

The images Harvey conjured up of her in his shirt did not come  _close_ to the real thing. No, the shirt didn't fall  _just right_ and give him a nice view of her ass. His torso was much longer than hers, making the shirt hit mid-thigh, but damn did she look  _good_. She rolled up the sleeves while standing in the doorway.

"Make breakfast with me," she suggested, looking back at him with those big eyes and the lips he tasted last night.

And he obliged. How could he not?

They probably looked  _real_ domestic; him in his boxers, her in his shirt, standing in the kitchen while she taught him how to make waffles and he made scrambled eggs. Harvey was never really big on making his meals – especially breakfast. He probably spent too much on danishes and other pastries. There was a lot of sunlight and laughter, a lot of coffee, and kisses that Harvey had lost count of. And damn it, he was  _happy_.

And then a knock came at the door and Harvey was thrown from his dream world and in the very real understanding that Jim Gordon was at the door. Shame overcame him. Jim would look down on what they had just done over and over and over last night. Lizzy was gazing around the door which she had cracked open so Harvey had time to throw pants on with a wife beater. He searched for his phone only to find it beside the bed, dead. And his shirt, well, damn, she was still wearing it.

He put on his best proud face and exited the room to find Lizzy pouring coffee for the boy scout and his partner trying to avert his eyes from Lizzy's legs.

"Jimbo," he greeted when the man met his look, appreciating the distraction. The young man had those humored eyes and that raised-eyebrow expression of his.

"Hi."

Lizzy presented him with a mug before running off into the bedroom to change.

"What are you doing here?"

"Same question," Jim's monotone voice rang out. "But I can assume…" he paused. "Phone's dead, I bet. Been callin' you. I have some things to take care of for an hour, and I need you to get back to work."

"Course you do," Harvey grumbled, drinking his coffee. "What now?" After everything lately, Jim was being awfully rebellious.

"I'm workin' on Flass," the boy walked closer. "And I know you called in a favor the other day," yeah, got him some nasty bruises too. If the lights had been on last night, Lizzy probably would have asked about them. "Just keep your head down when you're at GCPD. Short day. Left you some paperwork."

Lizzy returned, fully dressed, his shirt in her arms which she handed to him. He'd slid it on, buttoned it, tucked his tie in his coat pocket.

And that was it: quick salute to Liz before he busted out the door with Jim. Then it was paperwork piled until he got a call. He half expected it to be Lizzy, but the number was unknown.

Fish. Calling from some shoddy payphone. Crying, desperate. How could he say no?

He finished up, darting off down some back alley road until she stepped in front of his car and darted in.

"Thank you, Harvey," she spoke in that slow tone. "I have some people after me."

And maybe it was the fact that he was with Lizzy last night, but he felt  _guilty_ for not calling her, not telling her where he was. Not that he owed her anything, really, it was more of a desperate 'if-I-get-shot-tonight' thing. And that was a possibility once again. Meddle in the affairs of Fish Mooney, you'll get the battle scars to prove you did.

She told him where to take her and he did, not speaking much. What could he say to this woman? They had a history. A not-so-good one at times, but she'd given him that protection for years. It was only after Lizzy entering his world that he realized  _maybe_ she wasn't so gentle.  _Maybe_ she was teetering on the edge of controlling.  _Maybe_ it wasn't just kinky sex. Maybe she had  _owned_ him. Yet he cared for her, more than he probably should have. But given the option to sit idle and watch her struggle or help out, this was his reaction: driving down some back road, taking her to the docks. They got out and stood right in the open, waiting for someone to speak.

He took his jacket off, draping it over her shoulders for warmth. He shouldn't have asked for her plan. He shouldn't have cared. But he did. He  _cared_ and it ached something awful.

"Listen, you know I have your best interests at heart," he paused, biting his tongue and trying not to look at her. But he broke. "Don't come back."

"No. You will see me again," she seethed and he believed her. "In the meantime, do me a favor: find Butch. And if he's alive, help him." His mind flashed back to Lizzy straddling Butch's thick thighs, back to when he was jealous and unaware of what she tasted like.

"I will," he promised.

"See you soon."

Reflex, maybe, but he touched the side of her neck and stroked his thumb across the flesh. "Be good."

She kissed him gentle, running a finger across his face. It happened so fast, he didn't even think about what he was doing. She pulled back. "Always."

By the time he took his leave, he felt so sick to his stomach, he had to pull over. He wretched on the way to his place – actually  _went_  to his place – but it seemed less-than-pleasant. What had he just done?

He could still smell Liz on his shirt, could still feel her warm flesh against him last night. How was it that he always managed to fuck up the good stuff? A warm shower was in order. A shower and a smoke and four more smokes and some drinks. There were four bottles of beer in his fridge when he'd returned, and he downed them all within the hour. Not enough. Hard liquor was a craving he'd had for hours, but he should stop. Sleep. Something. Anything. Something with his hands.

Instead he passed out on the couch.

Monday came quick. Elizabeth was on her way into Arkham, Harvey was well aware. He remembered their conversation before things went  _south_ , for lack of better term.

"Is Ms. Sorkin sick?" Ed, as always, appeared out of nowhere and startled Harvey.

" _Jesus!_ Ed."

"Apologies," he paused. "I fathom you and Ms. Sorkin are friends. Do you know if she's sick? I make a mean homemade chicken noodle soup; surefire way to get her back to feeling right as rain."

Harvey rubbed his temples. "Thanks, Ed, but no. She isn't sick."

"Oh," he looked around shiftily. "Then where is she?"

"Took a second job at Arkham, with the lunatics." Harvey went back to the paperwork.

Jim approached then, glancing between the two of them. "Morning, Ed."

He saluted. "Jim."

As Ed left, Jim slapped his partner on the shoulder. "You've been pretty down lately for a guy who's sleeping with someone, what, fifteen years his junior?"

" _Twelve_ ," he corrected. "And it's…complicated."

Jim shook his head slowly. "Haven't called her, have you?"

Harvey narrowed his eyes. No. He hadn't. And he hadn't heard from  _her_ either, actually, so they were both to blame. Besides, he couldn't just  _lie_ to her about Fish. And how, exactly, would that go over?  _Look, Liz, I know we'd just fucked 8 hours before, but Fish put her mouth on mine and I didn't_ exactly  _pull away._

Yeah. That'd go over  _really_ well.

So he dove into his work. Straight into the cases and the crazy; figured if she wanted to talk to him, she could. But he needed space currently, and damn it she had no say in the matter.

* * *

"Elizabeth, we have patient 337 in holding room L. If you're ready for her, she's all yours." The receptionist was one of the nicest people at Arkham, she'd decided. The woman was soft where all the other staff was rough. After the incident with Jim Gordan and the Electrocutioner, things were much edgier in Arkham or so she'd heard.

It was only her third day on the job, but she was already enjoying it; already taking work home and making her office cozy. She'd been so busy she hadn't had time for Harvey. But tonight she was working at GCPD as well, which was a gift.

Most of her patients didn't scare her, necessarily. Worry may have been a better term. They got a little violent with one another during lunch, but most of them sat quiet during their meetings and discussed some traumatic things. They had nowhere else to be and no one to impress, unlike the officers she worked with. It was refreshing to  _hear_ something from the patients, not simply sit in silence until another officer interrupted their meeting.

She had just enough time to drive home and shower before rushing off to GCPD. She'd made sure to put on one of her favorite dresses and even a little makeup. This  _was_ the first time she'd be seeing Harvey since their night together.

But the moment she started up those stairs toward his desk, she heard something that made her feel so, incredibly  _worthless_.

"So, you could…maybe go to dinner afterwards? Hypothetically." Harvey was stumbling over words and his cheeks were heated and the moment was so  _tense_ , she knew what she was walking in on. A pretty redhead sat in the chair opposite him. He had a thing for redheads.

Elizabeth didn't listen to her response, didn't remember that breathing was an important thing. Her hand reached out for the railing beside her. She felt like she was in the shadows, like she was on the outside looking in. Jim approached her then, silently taking her expression in, placing a hand on her shoulder then meeting the stimulus her eyes were viewing.

Harvey stood, watched this woman go, looked smitten. Lizzy didn't dare move at first, but when Jim started toward Harvey, she brushed past the two, not daring to meet Harvey's eyes. Her heel clicks got Harvey's attention and he turned just in time to see her trying to look pissed off and not hurt.

"Liz-" she didn't stop.

"Not thinking lately, are ya, Harv?" Jim's expression was that of pity.

Harvey  _had_  been thinking lately – too much. That was his problem. He assumed her lack of calling meant it was a one night stand type of deal, which was fine. Damned if he thought this would be long-term; his mistake. But with Fish and the  _guilt_ and the realization that he  _hated_ relationships for this very reason – he felt obligated to someone; felt like dating is a means of control. But Scottie…she was pretty. Smart, too. Older. Older than Lizzy, that is. That was a relationship that made sense. More his age-range. He wouldn't feel like he was holding her  _back_. That was something that wouldn't weight heavy if it didn't work out. He wouldn't have that dreaded feeling of inadequacy. If it worked, it worked. If not, oh well; women, right?

But with Lizzy, they had history. If they did this and it didn't work out, he'd lose that friendship. In Gotham, you can use every friend you've got.

It seemed he may have just ruined it now.


	20. Chapter 20

The evening was still, night air moving around her as she stood on the roof of GCPD. Officers often came up there to smoke. The victim Harvey had been speaking to the red haired woman about had died up there hours ago, but it somehow didn't make Elizabeth as queasy as it maybe should have. Ed told her, the sweetheart, after he'd spoken of his well-wishes at Arkham and his ability to make chicken noodle soup. Elizabeth quite enjoyed Ed. He was always so formal and kind – he had the  _biggest_ thing for Kringle, she'd noticed. If she were honest, Ed was one of the few friends she felt she had at GCPD. And how many Gotham friends did that total up to? Jim, Ed, Alfred, Bruce, Essen…Harvey.

She'd never considered taking up smoking until now. It would have been the perfect excuse to get away as opposed to what she had done. Honestly, she wasn't one to run from her problems, she'd face them head-on. But that didn't count when her problem was a 5' 10" Irish guy who she'd slept with nights prior.

Harvey had come looking to talk with her toward the end of her shift, but she was just leaving to get back to the file room and maybe get a discussion in with Essen and Ed before someone interrupted her thoughts. She knew Ed would engage Harvey in conversation as soon as he entered the file room, and she knew Harvey would follow her. Right she was. So upon Ed's voice resounding, Liz literally ducked under Harvey's arm and yanked at the door that led to the stairs to the roof.

One officer was up there.  _Jillian_ , she thought she'd remembered. The woman was puffing on a Marlboro and looking extremely exhausted. Liz wondered what  _she_  looked like under the moon with the weight of the day piling on her.

"Lizzy,"  _And oh, fuck, the man can track down a trail_. "We have to talk." So she turned, trying to make her expression emotionless; not crossing her arms like she'd wanted to, not screaming or crying or running, but still – elegant. "I shoulda called you, yanno? I just…I – uh – well, I didn't."

"No shit," she hummed, trying not to sound too jaded. She breathed. "It's fine. I get it."

"You do?" As he spoke, Jillian stomped out her cigarette and rushed to the stairs back inside.

"This was just some  _thing_ for you. And we didn't define anything and all that sexual tension was building up between us. We got it out of our systems the other night. Noted."

Only it wasn't. She hadn't had it in her to wash her sheets  _just yet_. She could push them another day. They still smelled like him. Harvey wasn't one for relationships, she was sure, and she wasn't about to push him into something he'd be uncomfortable with.

"I just felt so damn guilty," he mumbled, stepping closer. She waited. "Fish kissed me." There wasn't a trace of acknowledgment. " _I_ – er… - I kissed her back. I should have just pushed her away after everything that happened, but, I wasn't thinking."

"Why are you telling me this?" she spoke slowly. "We aren't together, Harvey, you owe me nothing." So it came out a little colder than she'd originally intended. Damn. To see his eyes sober the way they did…she was the scum of the Earth.

" _Damn it_!" he cursed, slapping his open palms against the cement ledge beside them. "Lizzy, I don't know what the Hell I want."

She stood still, stood so still he didn't think she was even breathing. When he looked at her, she was tense, staring at his hands and clenching her jaw. She looked defeated. She looked frightened.

"That's…fine?" it was a quiet comment.

"Oh, no it isn't. No," he raised his hands up, pointing a finger at her. "Because I'm tired of doing this dance. I'm tired of feeling guilty. I constantly fuck things up. Yanno?  _Consistently._ And you? Ohh, you just have everything together, huh? An education, looks, job opportunities, a nice little apartment…and then there's me. How in the Hell do I fit into that lifestyle?" she was still silent. So he was trying to push her away. Why? Because he was afraid. Afraid of being happy while she felt trapped. Afraid of peace and commitment. "I'll tell ya: I don't. So whatever we have? Whatever we  _could have had_? We can't. It's gonna be too hard – we won't work."

She blinked a few times before looking over the edge of the building, staring down at the passing cars and the passing people, the flashing lights. A falling feeling overcame her, chills covering her body.

"You're probably right," she placed a small hand on his arm, the neon lights of buildings dancing in her eyes as she gazed at his. "Goodnight, Harvey."

Just as quickly as she came up there, she left. Her heel clicks and the passing cars below were all Harvey could hear.

And it hit him. Her eyes. He'd been seeing flashes of reds and whites and blacks across his dreams for months now. It all seemed too familiar.

 _The bar. Halloween. A decade ago._   _That was_ her.  _The nurse_.

He'd been sloshed by the end of the night, but he remembered a few foggy details: her costume, her education in Columbus.  _Ohio_. Studying some kind of psychiatry.

Harvey bolted down the stairs, considering the whole way down that  _then_ the age hadn't been an issue.  _Then_ it wasn't a matter of him holding her back, more of a mutual 'what-can-we-gain-from-each-other' deal; when he wasn't some washed up alcoholic with a little too much weight he was carrying in his belly.

Fuck, he'd made a mistake.

But Elizabeth's office was dark and locked up. Yanking on the doorknob did nothing for him but make him feel like a complete putz.

"She went home, Harvey. As should you." It was Jim, shaking his head as he passed Harvey's chaotic hustle.

Had she known? Did she recognize him? Probably not. He likely looked like a washed up drunkard to her now. Probably looked like he went a few too many rounds with a few too many brick walls and here he was.

But she didn't notice, or at least had the courtesy not to mention. Who cares about the age thing, right? But he did…a little too much. Twelve years is a big difference. She was going to want kids, right? Most chicks wanted kids. And a nice house. And she'd end up watching him die before her, which was frustrating for him to think about. If you date someone, you're either going to break up or spend the rest of your life with them and Harvey couldn't imagine either right now. Terror crept its way up his spine. He was a coward.

Slamming his fist against the wall, Harvey sighed. He'd been downright rude to her. And he'd blame it on the slew of things on his to-do list, but if he were being honest, he was speaking out of fear. Push her away so she can't push  _you_ away.  _Good plan, Harv, look how that's going for ya._

He wouldn't be sleeping tonight.

If Elizabeth had a cell phone, she would have called before showing up. It was 8:30 at night and she knew Bruce was still awake. She knew Alfred was likely making tea and sitting uncomfortably with the boy, but she drove over anyway.

At the sound of the gate being opened, Alfred jumped to his feet from the living room. Someone had likely broken past the code, someone was after Bruce again. He excused himself and went into the hall, pleased that Bruce was still reading the paper and hadn't acknowledged the sound. He lifted up the fallboard on the piano Bruce hadn't touched in years and pulled out a handgun. Slowly peering out from behind a curtained window, he eyed the yard as the gate closed.

Nothing. And then a knock.

Alfred could feel his heart pounding, the slight prickling of sweat on his forehead. His finger flitted across the trigger as he slowly opened the door.

"Lizzy," he half snapped, half gasped. "Bloody – you gave me quite the fright, I'll have you know."

She blushed, eyeing the gun in his hand as he pulled the door open fully. "I am so sorry, Alfred. I just…I didn't want to be alone right now, and you're the only friend I've got." So it wasn't entirely true, but how weird would it be going to see Essen after hours? Or Ed? They would ask questions she wasn't ready to answer. Bruce and Alfred were reliable, they felt like home.

"Please, come in, relax a bit," his tone softened as he gripped her shoulder and led her inside. He was silent a tick, feeling a bit stupid for holding a gun behind his back.

She took off her black heels, watching as Alfred took in her normal height and it occurred to her that this was the first visit she'd even gotten comfortable and removed her shoes. She thanked Alfred for his kindness and admitted that she was a little embarrassed to be here.

"I  _did_ mention an open invite; you are welcome here any time, Lizzy," he paused, walking back to the piano and once again hiding the gun. "Is everything alright?"

Lizzy was biting her lip when Alfred decided that perhaps a meeting with Master Bruce was  _not_ the best of decisions. So he led her into the kitchen and grabbed a bottle of wine.

"Do you have something harder?" she chuckled, running her fingers through her hair. "I hate to be a bother."

"Not at all. I must admit, it's been quite some time since I've had someone to drink the hard stuff with."

She opened her arms wide and did a half-curtsey. "Honored, I am, sir."

He laughed at this, turning a moment to look at her –  _really_ look. "Does the loony bin require you to dress up?"

"Oh, no, this was uh…" she looked down. "I just felt like it." She pushed aside the word vomit that wanted to leak out;  _this was for Harvey._

"Color me impressed," he commented. "You look very nice." A blush rose to her cheeks and he swiftly turned away to grab a bottle of rum and two glasses while hiding his smile. "You're not in trouble, are you, luv?"

A small shake of the head. "No. Nothing like that."

He approached, placing the glasses then pouring some. "I'll drink to that, then." They clinked their glasses together and drank. "Was worried about you, what with taking that Arkham job."

"Nothing too outlandish yet, but I do miss my time here."

He sat now, too. "And we quite miss having you," Alfred was tentative, but he placed his hand on top of hers for a brief moment. "So, what has your feathers ruffled?" Just as quickly as his hand moved to hers, he pulled away.

She cleared her throat, pouring herself some more rum. "I'm sure you can make that assumption yourself."

It didn't take much time for him to quip, "Lover trouble?"

She groaned, drinking more. "Stupid, right?" He shrugged. "I think I just get hurt too easily."

He was silent again, waiting for her to elaborate. So she did – on everything. She told him about her and Harvey just being friends but how it led to their night together, the fact that he was with Fish and now this new redhead girl – dinner was probably happening with that woman as she spoke. And he was probably correct; they weren't good together, but it felt right.

"Detective Bullock seems to be a little flirtatious with women. It's a shame he's hurt you like this."

"I set myself up for it though, so it isn't entirely his fault," she hummed, finishing off her second glass. "Wow, I'm sorry. I promise I'm not usually this whiny about relationships."

Alfred believed it. Lizzy was always very professional and levelheaded. Hurt did crazy things to people. "Liz, if I may be candid: I  _told_ the idiot that he didn't deserve you."

"You did?"

"The morning I went to pick up Master Bruce I told him. Told him and he waved it off like there was nothing between the two of you. Bloody idiot, that one."

And she chuckled – she let herself laugh boisterously, covering her mouth with her hand so as not to disturb Bruce, but it happened anyway. The boy soon entered the kitchen and she noted Alfred didn't stand up, like she'd mentioned months before. God, that felt like a lifetime ago.

"Elizabeth," he greeted. "I wasn't aware you were here."

"I didn't think it wise to disturb your reading, sir."

"Thank you, Alfred. I must admit, I'm disappointed. I'd like to stay and discuss some things with you, but I'm awfully tired."

"Get some rest, Bruce, we can talk another time. You know my phone is always there, too. I can call you back if I'm working."

Bruce nodded then took a look at the alcohol they were drinking. He spoke to Alfred now, "Be sure she gets home safely."

"Right, sir."

"Goodnight."

"Goodnight," Alfred and Liz replied in unison.

After he left, Lizzy ran a hand through her hair and smirked down at the table. "I like it here," she admitted. "I feel almost like a mom."

Alfred paused, humming low in his throat. "You'd make a good mum." He didn't look up and she just gaped at him, letting the moment still the air.

"Yeah?" she was biting her lower lip again, out of habit. Large, important statements like that always made her feel flustered, no matter who said them.

Alfred leaned in and spoke quietly. "And I'm covetous of the lucky bastard who makes it happen." Lizzy froze in her seat. Had she just heard him right? He smirked at her reaction. "What? You think just because we were working together I was somehow not a man? Please. Liz, you're quite a catch, and an old man such as myself notices these things. Believe me, some of the women I've come across in my years…" he shook his head. "Of course, this discussion would be unprofessional, were we still working together." He finished his first drink while Liz sat there, stunned. "And perhaps it still is." He felt a little silly speaking about it.

After a moment, she couldn't help the smile that appeared on her face. Here she was, expecting the night to be a flop, a wash what with Harvey's sudden righteous decision  _after_ the sex that this was a bad idea. And here Alfred was raising her spirits and making her feel warm and attractive.

"You're not bad yourself, Mr. Pennyworth," she chuckled. When she glanced at the clock, she noticed how late it was getting. "I'm sorry for taking up your night. I should be going." She stood then, placing her glass in the sink and walking to the door where her keys and shoes awaited.

When trying to put a heel on, she wobbled slightly, reaching out to grab onto Alfred's shoulder. His hand cupped around her waist, holding her steady.

"You probably shouldn't drive, Lizzy."

And as much as she wanted to argue it, she knew it was true. And what would Bruce think? She knew he'd ask later. Driving tipsy was not something she should be teaching the young man.

"I don't want to overstay my welcome. I'm already sorry. Trust me, I'll be fine. It's not a long drive and I'll put the windows down to keep me alert."

Alfred raised a brow again. "No. Stay."

"I'll just have some water and sit down for a few minutes. Alfred, I'm not as tipsy as you think I am."

"No doubt with that, but a little tipsy is enough to get you into trouble." He would never forgive himself for letting her go if something happened on her drive home.

Why was her mind traveling to how good his hands felt at her hips? Perhaps it was the attention she was getting from him, but it made her think back to Harvey asking if she had a thing for him and how deep Alfred's voice had gotten when he was wooing Fish. She felt a little out of control at the moment, but it didn't stop her from letting her hand trail from Alfred's shoulder to his lower back as she stroked deep circles against his vest.

This was not what she had intended by coming here, not whatsoever, but she could feel herself changing as the minutes passed. She felt like herself again; no longer like she was inhabiting this body, but she was an active member in her life. Her ex had tried to take that from her and he'd succeeded for a time. The past three days had made her hyperaware of how much she'd grown since her life in Ohio – how much  _better off_ she was now.

Alfred handed her a glass of water, but kept his close contact to her. She told herself that it was because he'd been weary of her stumbling again, but she sensed something else entirely.

Alfred hadn't been alone with a woman in this house in almost twenty years. Bruce trusted Lizzy.  _He_ trusted Lizzy, which was another thing entirely. Maybe in his younger years Alfred would have been swayed into shacking up with a woman; spending the night honoring that place between her thighs. Now, however, he just missed that affection – the warmth, the closeness. Alfred wanted to  _hold_ someone through the night.

But how does one go about asking for these types of favors?

Of course, if given the chance, Alfred would likely take to a bit of snogging and the like. But Lizzy had been through enough emotional turmoil in the past few days, the last thing he wanted was to add to it.

The only way he knew to go about these things was to make the first move. And so he did – a deep, gentle kiss on the mouth. Lizzy's wide brown eyes greeted him as he pulled away slowly. Had he crossed that line? Bollocks, he did, didn't he?

"Lizzy, I-" but she wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her mouth to his again.

The moment hadn't lasted long, not with his constant worry of Master Bruce walking in. The two had an unspoken rule that as soon as their door closed at night, they were not to be disturbed or it better be an emergency.

Alfred began pulling back the tiniest bit and Liz halted. "You're about to tell me how wrong this is and how young I am and how I should go home now, aren't you?" she nodded gently, letting go of his collar and patting the material back to an unwrinkled state.

He raised his eyebrows, reminding himself that she was speaking from experience with Detective Bullock. "Oh, no. I was going to suggest we take this back to my quarters."

The look of pure elation made this all worthwhile for Alfred, even if she would storm out of his room soon because he'd disappoint.

So he held onto the feeling of her hand in his as they quietly made their way down the hall. Elizabeth had been in his quarters once, for only moments. But now here she was, wondering just what Alfred had in mind. She didn't peg him for anything like Harvey; the dirty talk, the loud and the gruff. Alfred was more reserved.

"Would you like something more comfortable?" he motioned to her dress, making her look down.

"Yeah, sure," she nodded, watching him walk toward a chest of drawers. He removed a white t-shirt and flannel pants. "Thanks, but I don't wear pants to bed."

Alfred rocked from his heel to the sole of his foot. "Right." He cleared his throat, feeling the heat rising to his cheeks. Both of them stood in silence for a moment before Alfred spoke again. "Liz, I…hoped you'd stay with me tonight."

She was on her way to the attached bathroom to change. "Thought that was the point," there was a flirtatious tone to her voice.

"Well, yes, but…I don't want…to  _disappoint_ , you see," he paused. "Would it be alright if I just…held you…tonight?"

Lizzy peered around the corner to see his expression was sullen. Her gaze softened as she slipped the shirt on. "Oh, Alfred, of course!" She was relieved, if she were being honest. She'd already ruined one friendship with a sexual escapade, she couldn't afford another.

While Alfred was undoing his tie and sliding off his vest and shoes, Lizzy returned to the room, just in his shirt, hair wavy and pulled to her right shoulder. He stopped mid-movement and gaped.

"Lizzy, you're very attractive, you know."

"Yeah?" she questioned with a smile, looking down in embarrassment. "I can wear pants if you prefer, I just can't sleep in 'em 'cause…"

He stepped nearer, placing a finger against her lips. "This is just fine, luv." And he pecked her on the nose before taking her dress from her hands and setting it beside the clothes he'd already discarded. When he was just in a wife beater and his slacks, he stood nervously. "Haven't been in this state of undress before anyone in…oh, ten years? Apologies."

She smiled once again, reaching out gently to take his hands and lower them to his slacks. Her small hands worked with his, undoing the button and zip, then sliding them down his legs. Her eyes didn't leave his while he stepped out of the pants and stood solely in his boxers, which comforted Alfred. Years prior, he'd been in better shape. Now, he just felt like the dried up shell of what he used to be.

"You look fine, Alfred." He felt her hands roaming over his torso, feeling muscle there still, but he was meatier than he'd been used to. Before, it was a six-pack and pure tone. Now, he was boxy, run down.

She climbed into the large bed when he went to turn off the lights. Alfred swallowed hard. A decade since he'd last been with a woman; longer still since he'd let anyone stay the night. What with him living with the Wayne's, they did not approve of overnight guests. His only times with a woman were his rare days off when the Wayne's had plans for Master Bruce. Even that was difficult. Most women wanted someone who had  _time_ for them, and Alfred had none. Did he  _remember_ how to hold a woman? Or fall asleep with someone in the bed beside him?

And still, the lights went off. Practiced steps led him to the bed and he was not expecting the  _heat_  already. Trying to put his body at ease, he slid down under the covers and rested his head on a pillow, turning toward Lizzy and reaching a shaking hand out toward her body.

He found her in the dark; touched her skin lightly and traced his fingertips across her thigh. Her hands were on his cheeks in minutes and he'd wondered how she'd adjusted to the dark so quickly. Her lips were soon on his, and it was muscle-memory. It felt like comfort.

"Thank you for staying," he heard himself say, though his mind was barely functioning right.  _This was happening._

"Thank you for having me. I didn't intend to be a burden."

"And a burden you are not."

They shared a few more tender kisses before he pulled her close and felt her breath at his neck. He hummed lightly, content. Lizzy was a good friend for allowing him this moment of intimacy. Ravaging her may have been an option, but both of them knew that would have made things more  _complicated_. Alfred was aiming for the  _uncomplicated_ ways from now on. So he'd take this path instead; holding her until the lonely in his gut subsided for at least the slightest while.

So like that they lay, body to body, providing each other with comfort that neither wanted to speak too much of. Yet comfort it was.

And in the morning when Alfred woke to the sight of her – beautiful, pale skin, sunbeams dancing across her arm, peaceful – he hoped Detective Bullock would make amends. Liz was too much soul, too much  _gentle_ to pass up. Bullock was making a huge mistake.


	21. Chapter 21

The clock read 7 AM when Elizabeth woke up. She didn't look over at Alfred – she could feel him beside her still, but was he awake? Shame overcame her as she quietly closed the bathroom door. Her face was red, her fingers feeling heavy hanging at her sides. Wanting something to do with her hands, she turned on the shower. She should have just gone home – to sleep or drink herself stupid or cry her eyes out. That heavy, emotional feeling was still in her throat and the familiar knowledge that she needed a good  _cry_ overcame her.

Instead, she undressed and finally stepped into the shower – clenched teeth, breaths even, holding herself together once again. The warm water running down her body did nothing for her wandering mind, it just reminded her of that dull look in Harvey's eyes last night and how heated and embarrassed it made her feel. She'd been so young and naïve to think he'd give her a chance to prove herself as worthy. Disappointment was a bitch.

Shortly after, shoulders tense, skin smelling of men's body wash, she stepped out of the shower. Her dress lying on the counter must have been put there by Alfred. This was not how the morning after was supposed to go, she was sure. Granted, kissing was as far as they dared go. Hurt was still settled in her chest. Harvey's little speech last night ripped her to shreds more than she'd like to admit.

Exiting the bathroom in last night's dress, she was greeted by a neatly made bed, Alfred nowhere. Upon opening his bedroom door, she recognized the smell of pancakes and bacon. Wandering down the hall, she kept her eye out for Bruce. The boy likely woke early, right?

"Morning, Elizabeth," Alfred greeted, flipping pancakes. "Hope you're hungry." He was completely composed, deep red tie suiting him just right this morning. Elizabeth glanced around, still not finding Bruce. "He's still asleep, the lazy thing."

So she took a seat at the table. "I've gotta get going soon."

"Right. Arkham this morning?"

She nodded. "I'm free tonight, thankfully. No GCPD." Why was she telling him this? She planned to spend the night in, drink some wine, watch some shitty TV.

"Good. You should have another night away."

They ate together, Alfred taking time to sit after she urged him to relax. The room was tense, she could feel, and it was likely the guilt of hiding things from Bruce.

"I won't mention a thing to him, you know," she spoke after finishing her first pancake. "He wouldn't understand your need for intimacy at this point, I'm sure."

Alfred nodded stiffly. "Agreed. It's better this way." He paused a moment before looking down and away from her.

"What?"

"Hm?" he raised his eyes to her. "Nothing." She didn't speak, waiting for him and not really knowing what to say. He sighed. "I just think Bullock is a complete dolt for last night, if I may be so bold." She nodded again, feeling a pang in her chest. "The man is speaking out of fear, clearly."

Elizabeth smiled at him. "You sound an awful lot like a counselor, Mr. Pennyworth."

He stood to take the dirty dishes to the sink. "Perhaps you're rubbing off on me."

"I shouldn't have bothered you last night and I apologize."

Turning, he hummed. "Liz, I felt honored that you came to me with your struggle last night. We're  _friends_ , you and I. And I appreciate your company. It's been quite the rough year and last night was just the comfort I needed to get me through."

Before Liz could answer, she heard Bruce calling Alfred down the hall. The two exchanged a fearful look, knowing that the boy assumed Liz went home last night. As Alfred went to meet the boy, she slid her shoes on, grabbed her keys, and darted out the door. She drove to her apartment to change clothes for work. Her head was spinning, but she suddenly felt an overwhelming sense of comfort from last night. No, it wasn't going anywhere – neither of them wanted that – but now she had learned what it was like to not want more from a friend. And it pushed her toward the knowledge that she wanted all of it with Harvey. She needed to be honest with him – none of this ' _it's okay that you don't want to be exclusive_ '. It had taken a few pushes for her to see how empty things were without him. They wouldn't work? She disagreed. But until he changed his mind, nothing was going to change.

At Arkham, things heated up. A new patient she was assigned didn't just want to talk. He was violent. He was rude. He reminded her a little too much of  _him_. She had to use the panic button for the first time, calling for the officer on duty to come and take the patient away. Shaken, she walked back to her office. In passing, she literally bumped into Leslie Thompkins. They'd met once before.

"Elizabeth, are you alright?" she asked after Liz apologized for running into her.

"I am. Just got out with Mr. Reiden."

"Ah. That one isn't very good with change, and since Dr. Orson left…" she trailed off, pausing seemingly in thought. "You're…seeing Detective Bullock, aren't you?" she didn't give Elizabeth a chance to interject. "Jim and I were talking about getting dinner sometime this weekend. Feel free to join us, I'm sure Jim wouldn't mind. We could all use more friends in Gotham."

"We're…yeah. Okay. Thank you."

Elizabeth felt flustered, she felt like everything was slipping between her fingers though her hands were pressed tightly together. It was like ripping a scab off a healing wound, hearing her ask about Harvey. She went back to her office to fill out paperwork and wonder why she didn't own a flask.

But the day did end and soon she was home for the evening. The first thing she did was grab a bottle of wine and pour herself a large glass. She walked out on the balcony, feeling the gentle breeze. Last night was ridiculous. Even though she wanted comfort, she should have handled it herself. That's what she always used to do, and it worked for a while. Would things be uncomfortable now with Alfred? Swallowing down more wine, she decided to let it go. Everything was said and done and there was no going back to change things now.

When she finally decided to go inside, she noticed her answering machine was lit up. Her voicemail was jammed with messages, surprisingly all from Harvey. The man sounded damn  _exhausted_ and the calls got more urgent, though cryptic.

A pounding on her door frightened her, but she tried to shake it off before answering. Harvey stood there, tired, breathless, shaking his head and then exhaling loudly.

"Jesus  _Christ_ you're a hard lady to track down," he let himself in, but did not remove his hat or coat. "Okay,  _listen_ ," he paused, almost expecting her to yell or kick him out. But it didn't happen. "What happened yesterday, I'm sorry. Fuck, I shouldn't have done what I did with Fish and with Scottie, but I'm running from this. Yanno? I'm…" he stopped to look at her, hollow eyes, dull stare, lifeless. "Fucking  _Hell,_ Liz, I'm sorry." He hated knowing that he had done this to her – God only  _knew_ where she was last night when he'd practically beat down her door. A pissed off neighbor shooed him away like a stray cat. So this was him trying again and he was glad she was home now. Nervous, but relieved.

She swallowed hard, reminding herself that this was the time to tell him. "I don't want there to be any confusion here, Harvey." With his attention, she stepped closer. "I get why you did what you did. I do. But…don't expect me to keep playing this back and forth with you. You're scared? I'm scared. I don't know what the Hell I'm doing, but I know it feels right. Here, with you, it's  _right_. And damn I know you by now. You're not going to scare me off. Be moody, if you want. Be possessive at times, or insanely guarded. Be silent or outspoken or confused or terrified. You're you. And I understand that. But don't you  _dare_  think that it makes me care for you any less."

Harvey held his breath, feeling his heart pounding in his chest, feeling pained. "Okay."

" _Okay?_ " she repeated. "All of that, and ' _okay_ '?!"

He kissed her then, pulled her to him, hands on her cheeks, kissed her hard. Every fiber of his being told him to leave. Close that door. Walk away. He'd apologized, that was all he was required to do. But that wasn't what he wanted to do. He wanted to stay.

One hand on his chest, the other on that spot on his neck, Lizzy pulled away and looked into his eyes.

"This is the 'define the relationship' moment, ain't it?" he groaned. "Can't we just play with this a little longer?"

Lizzy bit her lower lip before speaking. "Harv, I'm asking for  _commitment_."

Chills ran down Harvey's spine. This was killer. Damned if he did, damned if he didn't. What was he supposed to say? ' _Liz, I think you're great an' all, but I really don't see this thing going anywhere serious'_ or how about ' _I'm too old to be playing these commitment games_ '. And fear, damn it. He hadn't lied to Scottie last night with the group: he was constantly afraid; of dying, of being alone. His words haunted him:  _I don't want to die alone in some gutter. I want to die in a warm cozy bed in the arms of a beautiful woman._

"Commitment?" he was stalling and he knew she knew.

She sighed, letting her hands travel down his torso, down his tie. "Yes," she almost hissed. "I don't care if you call me your girl or whatever, I don't even care if you don't mention me, just…I want it to be us, yanno? Just us."

Harvey took her hands in his, kissed her knuckles, then looked back at her. He was biting his tongue and then the inside of his cheek, but the words still came: "Just us," he agreed.

And they were kissing once again. He had her against the wall, slamming the door shut with his foot, and letting her tear off his jacket and hat. His fingers ached for her. The kisses were urgent, deep, pleading.

It wasn't until he was between her thighs again – this time on the couch – that he paused. The look of contemplation written across his features made Lizzy nervous. She stroked his cheek gingerly, moving her hips to get his attention once again. The only acknowledgment he gave her was a tensing of his pelvic muscles and a deep jolting feeling inside of her. She wanted him to keep moving.

"Where were you on Halloween…I dunno, ten years ago?" Harvey asked in almost a mumble. Liz let out a laugh. "Don't laugh. I'm serious. Where were you?"

"Is this some type of role-play thing? Because you can do better than that, Detective," she chuckled, patting him gently on his bare chest.

"Liz," he hummed, moving his hips once again and sending her sensations into overdrive. He was being serious. "Do you remember a grump in a Jedi costume, per chance?"

It took a mere moment, but she was looking at him and gaping, her hand going to cover her open mouth, brown eyes wide. "Harv, was that…-" she exclaimed, reminded of a younger man with ginger hair. "How long have you known about that?" What else did he know?

"Yesterday I put it all together," he spoke in an elated tone. "I knew I'd recognized you from somewhere. You were really young then. Well…" and he chuckled against the nape of her neck, peppering her with kisses while he slammed himself inside her. "Was that a wig, or…?"

"No," she paused. "I'm a natural brunette, but I used to dye it blonde. I hate it like that now." Word vomit. She almost told him why.  _Almost._

"Your hair was long, from what I remember," he paused, pulling at her now shorter hair. "But if I'm honest, my eyes were on the rest 'a you all night."

"The outfit was extremely inappropriate."

" _-Hot!_ " Harvey corrected.

"I can't believe that was you," she shook her head, pushing back against him. "That night was a little fuzzy." And  _damn it_ , he must have been contemplating this. Had he done his homework on her? Did he  _know?_

"You're tellin' me," he laughed.

They fucked for a shorter amount of time than Harvey would have liked, but he was  _happy_. Finally happy. Maybe it wouldn't last and maybe he had to leave her for a few hours to go to work, but the moment he was in, he wouldn't change for anything.

"I'll see ya after work maybe?" Harvey grunted, clasping his belt. Lizzy came from the kitchen with a mug of cocoa in her hand. She nodded, pecking him on the cheek. "Oh, and Liz?" he reached in his coat pocket, pulling out a flip phone. "As I said: hard to track ya down."

As he placed the cell phone in her hand, she shook her head. "Harvey, why…? You didn't have to-"

"Ohh, yes, I did." He put his hat on. "Pick up for me once in a while, alright?" she just narrowed her eyes at him, a smile lighting up her features. He'd already programmed his number as well as Jim's into the phone. "Be good." He almost choked on his tongue after opening the door, thinking of the last words he'd said to Fish.

He was gone within minutes and Lizzy was just about to settle down for the night when she looked at the stack of mail she'd brought up. There, in sleek black, was an invitation to  _Oswald's_ for an event happening at 8. Looking at her empty apartment, she decided going to a new club was a good idea; especially since it was the new renovation of Fish's old club. She wanted to like the woman, she did, but there was a hard-to-get-over fact that she had  _used_ Harvey. Seeing this place lit up with new ownership sounded like just the right way to end her night.

She found a pretty emerald cocktail dress she hadn't worn yet and put it on with some black pumps. Diamonds dangled from her ears and she grabbed a black clutch. She'd have a few drinks, maybe get some appetizers. Make an appearance. Not everyone was invited to this, she was sure, and it gave her a sense of accomplishment for them to even know who she was. Perhaps it was because of her affiliation with Jim or Harvey. Whatever it was, it was good to be included for once.

As she locked her apartment door, she finally let herself understand that Oswald would be there. As in, the Oswald that Harvey and Jim were told to kill. As she took a cab, she hoped there wouldn't be hard feelings, but for once she was not afraid to take matters into her own hands, say there were; say things got violent. She could handle herself.


	22. Chapter 22

The club was dark, the lighting different, but it still had deep undertones of Ms. Mooney. Elizabeth almost felt her presence with every high heel click on the floorboards. She halted momentarily, reminded that she could simply turn around and circle back out the door. No one had seen her. No one knew who she was.

Almost as soon as those thoughts crossed her mind, she saw a man with dark hair limping toward her. Harvey had mentioned Penguin's walk before. He didn't look like much of a threat, yet Harvey said he'd shaken things up quite a bit. Despite the ill feeling of fear creeping up her spine, she smiled at the man.

"You must be Oswald."

He took her hand in greeting, turning it over and kissing it instead of shaking it. "Please, call me Penguin. It's a pleasure to be finally meeting you, Ms. Sorkin."

She shouldn't have been surprised that he recognized her, but she was.  _Flattering to be known in a town like this_ , she thought. So she let him lead her to a table, sitting across from her and snapping for a glass of wine. The server didn't speak, just bowed and held out two bottles of wine. She pointed to the white, deciding it was a Chardonnay kind of night. As he poured, she noticed Penguin's eyes had not left her.

Without much thought, she looked around the room, at the musician on stage, the few people around them, and the lighting. "The place looks nice."

"Yes, thanks very much. I've invested quite a bit into this dump," he spoke in a quick voice. "Do you know why I've invited you?" he cut right to it then and Elizabeth sipped her wine, looking bored. "I happen to know that you were not a fan of Fish," he paused. "And I respect that." He slammed his hand on the table and Elizabeth couldn't help but jump. "What do you think? Still seem like Fish Mooney's?"

"Of course not. You changed the lamps," it was a joke, but he didn't take it as such. "Penguin, the more you mention her around here, the more people are gonna remember her," she leaned back in the booth. "I think you did a nice job."

Penguin relaxed then, mouth still a hard line though, jaw so clenched it must be painful. Elizabeth wondered how much of a struggle it was for him to get to the current position he held. She decided not to ask.

"I hope there aren't any hard feelings between us, what with Detective Bullock," at his comment, Lizzy remained silent. "I can assure you I don't mean him any harm." She didn't ask how he knew of their relationship. Probably Fish.

"I appreciate that," she hummed, sipping her wine some more just as breadsticks were served to the table. She raised her wine glass, nodding to him so he'd do the same. "A toast to your continued success, Mr. Penguin." They clinked glasses then drank. A small smile was plastered across his pale face and Elizabeth decided she liked it. He was like the underdog – Lizzy  _always_ rooted for the underdog.

"I hoped of more of a turn out, but beggars can't be choosers."

Lizzy nodded, eyeing the punk with the Mohawk who was attempting to start a mosh pit. "You'll get there, that I'm sure." Curious why she wanted to butter him up. Oswald seemed like a good friend to have in this city. What was the harm in being kind? "This atmosphere is just breathtaking." She felt that way before when Fish owned the place too, she just wouldn't say it then.

He narrowed his eyes, pressed his fingers to his mouth. "Would you like to work here?"

Elizabeth stared then, unable to speak. "I…must decline – I'm currently working-"

"-At Arkham, yes! Apologies. I'd heard. Must've slipped my mind," but the way he spoke made her wonder if it really had. She felt the uncomfortable sense that his offer was just a segue to her current employer. "How are things there? Do you feel safe?"

How was she supposed to answer that? Yes, she felt safe in her office. Overall? No. Those psychopaths could kill her. She took a bite of a breadstick to give herself a moment. "It's overwhelming at times. It's really putting those degrees to good work."

"Right. Degrees. Elizabeth H. Sorkin. Bachelors of Arts with a major in Psychology. Masters of Science in Psychiatry."

Her eyes went wide and she felt like her heart stopped.  _If he knows what's on your degrees, what else does he know?_

"Your knowledge is quite impressive," she commented. "Rather prying, actually."

"Just…curious. You can never be too cautious in Gotham."

She hummed, finishing another breadstick. "You're right. Good call," she wanted to tell him that she wasn't dangerous, but a part of her got a thrill out of the idea. Let him think she was capable of playing their little game. She felt like they were in a dance – almost a stand-off. He was reading her wrong, but the fact that he  _was_ reading her made her aware: she was ready to run.

She bit her tongue, reaching for her purse. "Thank you for the evening, but I really shouldn't be out late. Where do I pay?"

"Oh, please, it's on the house."

With that, she nodded and stood, smiling sweetly at him before taking off out of the club. She kicked herself for taking a taxi – she'd expected to get a little tipsy. A part of her considered walking, but it was dark and if Harvey found out he'd bitch all night.

 _Harvey_. The ride home, she decided that she would not tell him a thing about tonight. For all he knew, she was in bed by 9 o'clock. She'd hate lying to him, but he'd ask what they spoke of and she'd have to tell him about the diploma incident. She'd have to tell him  _everything_  and that fact alone made her stomach churn.

No. He would not find out this way. Another way, another time, but not  _now_  when everything had been going so right.

When Harvey came back from his shift, he almost took the route to his apartment. Almost. But then he remembered how much better he slept in her bed and it was decided. Making sure to lock the door, the detective cracked his neck and tossed his hat on the kitchen table, draping his coat over a chair. It was  _late_  and he hoped Lizzy was sleeping by now. After letting his eyes adjust to the darkness of her room, he felt guilty for even considering waking her. The woman liked sleeping with the curtains back a little, letting some light in from the bright Gotham buildings.

He set his gun on the nightstand, kicking his shoes off and quietly removing his gun strap. The belt was what he expected to wake her, but it didn't. Neither did him removing his tie and shirt, his slacks. But as soon as he went to pull back the covers, he heard her gasp as she pushed herself up to stare at the intruder.

"Jesus! Sorry, I'm so sorry." Harvey held his hands up, dropping the comforter.

"Oh, Harvey," she breathed shakily, her voice laced with sleep. "Sorry. Here, come lay down." It was clear that neither of them were used to this.

He slipped under the covers then, easing himself into a comfortable position, and letting her tangle herself around him the way she had that first night. He could feel her heart pounding against his chest and he kissed the top of her head.

"Gotta be a better way to do this," he mumbled. "For future reference."

She laughed, running her thumb along his jawline and feeling his beard. "You're the only one I'll let do that," she hummed. "Anyone else, I'll kill 'em."

They got to kissing and he wanted one thing to lead to another but it was later – er, early, technically – and she seemed exhausted too. So they whispered their goodnights and Harvey had one of the best rests he'd had in a while.

He woke up to an empty bed, however. The clock on the nightstand read 9:53 and he knew she wouldn't be home. Which sucked. Especially for his morning wood. Groaning, Harvey dressed and made his way to the kitchen. A pot of coffee was waiting for him with a note in Lizzy's cursive hand:  _Off work at 5:00, see you then? Enjoy your black coffee, Detective. (Creamer's in the fridge if you so desire this morning.) –Lizzy xxx_

Harvey smiled despite himself, shaking his head and helping himself to a cup – black, might he add.

When he got to the precinct that morning, Jim was already at his desk. He smirked upon seeing Harvey.

"You look well-rested," he said, to which Harvey gave an unnecessary punch to the shoulder. "And you smell like women's soap," he nodded slowly, lips pursed. "Anything you wanna tell me, Bullock?"

"Shut it, kid." But he laughed. Honestly, Harvey was in such a better mood after spending the night with Liz. Sleeping alone was one of his least favorite things. Sure, he'd like to wake up with her in his arms, but she was a busy lady. "What cha got for us today, boy wonder?"

After Lizzy returned from Arkham, she took one look in the fridge and knew she had to go grocery shopping if she wanted to make dinner for Harvey tonight. Just a few things. She hoisted her purse on her shoulder, locked the door, and walked to her car. The weather was beautiful and she figured she'd have one bag, maybe two, of groceries. So she walked instead. Temperatures finally decent in Gotham? She knew she had to take advantage of that.

The sun was setting as she crossed the street on her way back to her building. She was fiddling with the strap on her purse when someone stepped in front of her, grabbing her shoulders. A hard fist met her cheekbone and she was tossed back against a brick wall, grocery bags spilling on the concrete.

"Hey, hey. Been a while." When her eyes met her attacker's, she felt her heart skip a beat. Ian. William. What were these two doing in Gotham? "What's been new?"

"Get out of here," she tried to sound convincing; tried to sound hard and tough, but her voice was breathy.

"Not so fast," Will spoke this time. "Seems you pulled a fast one; got outta town pretty quick after the trial."

"Did you think we'd just forget about you? That  _Jack_  would just forget about you?"

"N-no."

Ian hit her again and Will reached in her purse for her wallet. "We just need some money. That's all."

But that was never all. They wouldn't have come all this way if that were all. Elizabeth watched wide-eyed as the man pulled a bit of money from her wallet then tossed it to the cement of the alley. She watched as his fingers grasped at her ID badge from Arkham, watched the smile that crossed his face as he flashed it to Ian who nodded slowly.

Three breaths left her in the time it took to notice the dagger Ian held. And then instinct kicked in. She pushed Ian back using every ounce of strength she had, jutted her leg out to trip Will, and reached into Ian's pocket, pulling out the knife she knew he always carried. The man was quick. He used his hand to grasp her head, shoving it against the bricks behind her. She felt blood pooling from her forehead, but her mind was so focused on escape. Blinking away the lightheadedness and the fog, she raised the blade defensively.

A part of her wanted them to speak, to tell her just what they'd been expecting out of this encounter, but she knew better. Speedily, she crouched for her wallet, shoved it back in the purse strapped across her chest, and ran as quickly as she could. Their footfalls were right behind her, the grocery bags long forgotten.

"Come back, we just wanna chat," came Ian's voice.

Elizabeth ran toward a crowded street, turned corners, backtracked, got lost. Her feet were killing her from her high heels and as she spun around, she slipped them off. The two men were gone. Gasping for breath, she wondered how far from home she was.

"Sir?" she questioned a man passing. "How do I get to Willard Avenue?" Harvey's street name slipped out before hers. She was thinking about the cops and reporting this and Harvey just came to mind in the string of thoughts. Yeah, that was it.

"Just down the block and make a left." He continued walking, shouting the answer over his shoulder.

So she ran, passing buildings and people, judgmental looks streaming past her eyes. At the building, she ducked in, climbed the stairs barefoot, found room 136, knocked about a dozen times, and fell with her back against the door.

Harvey was getting off a shift, deciding not to go to the bar since he'd been so dehydrated all day. Alcohol would just make it worse. And then he remembered Lizzy's note this morning. It was 6:00 now, so he just drove on over. He figured he'd smell something cooking when he got there, but there was silence on the other side. No sounds of pots and pans. Nothing. He grabbed the key and let himself in, feeling suddenly worried. Maybe she was done cooking. Maybe she was putting on something sexy.

"Liz?" he called, his voice echoing through the apartment. "You here?" The only other sound was his footfalls on the hardwood. He peered into the kitchen, found the place just as he left it that morning. Searched the bedroom, checked the shower: nothing. Finally he pulled out his phone, calling the cell he bought her. After a few seconds, he heard the ringer going off and hunted it down to the kitchen. "God  _damn it!_ "

He was locking the door behind him soon, her cell phone in his pocket. Bolting to the car, he decided to try his place. He'd told her where he lived once, told her the room number one drunken night and suggested that they go there since he had some  _toys_  they could try.

The drive was a blur, but he was there quickly. Taking the steps two at a time, he climbed the stairs toward his place and halted. Elizabeth sat before his door; bare feet dirty, dress wrinkled, leggings underneath, shoes in her hand, a bloodied knife in the other.

"Shit. Liz? Lizzy…? Hey." He crouched beside her, wiped the hair from her face.

"Harvey." Voice broken, tearstains on her cheeks, blood oozing out of a wound on her forehead, dried blood caked on her cut up palm; the girl looked like a wreck. He pried the knife from her clutch, hoisted her in his arms, and fumbled with the key. As he entered the apartment, Lizzy's head rested against his chest and her breathing was soft on his neck.

He closed the door, carried her to the kitchen table, sat her down in the seat. Any other time, he would have been embarrassed. His place was a mess. It was bare and cold and dark, but he'd never had anyone to impress. Things were expensive and he was rarely there for anything other than sleep. But now, these thoughts were not a concern.

"Liz, you're gonna have to tell me what happened," he tried to remain calm, tried to play it like he would any other tear-stained victim at work, but damn it this was  _Lizzy_. His mind was busy creating scenario after scenario of the worst possible shit. Falcone? Maroni?  _Penguin_? Whatever happened it was probably to get back at him for  _something_. Harvey could never have nice things – never a relationship. And she tried to tell him, to her defense. Only, he couldn't make much out between the hyperventilating and crying. Something to do with  _money_ and  _Jack._  "Wait, wait, wait, who's Jack?"

"My ex."

Ooh, that made Harvey's blood boil. He slammed his hand on the table, stormed over to his front door, locked it, then came back with his hand on his gun holster.

"Your ex did this to you?" his voice was gruff, jaw clenching and unclenching, waiting for an answer, but also hoping she'd stop talking – go back to when things were good.

A shake of her head. "No. His friends."

"You knew them?" he tried not to raise his voice, he really did. She nodded. "Are they from here?"

"Ohio. They must have found out that I'm here."

"Lizzy, why would they want to know?" Maybe it was Harvey's anger, but what she was blubbering on about was making absolutely no sense.

Her eyes flashed back and forth between Harvey's and she looked like she was just realizing: "Fear. He wants me scared."

"Who?"

"Jack." Elizabeth was still shaky. Harvey grabbed a towel and water to stop the bleeding and clean the wounds. "It worked."

"Damn straight. Where'd it happen?"

"I think 75th and Ethur. They just took money."

"Yeah. Money and your sense of security." The detective started working on her wounds. "What did this?" his thumb trailed over the cut above her eye.

"Brick."

He shouldn't have asked. It only made him angrier, only made him want to get a description and find these bastards himself before dealing with the department and policy. There was a strong urge to put a bullet in their heads, send 'em over the pier. But right now his focus was on cleaning and probably dressing Lizzy's wounds. Her hand was completely torn up from clutching that blade. He hoped she didn't need stitches. They were silent for five minutes; only the sound of her catching her breath could be heard.

Finally, he was done and went to wash his hands before grabbing bandages and wrap. "Harv…?"

He was on it in a minute, making sure she was alright; that he didn't miss something or open something up more. "Yeah?"

"May I stay here tonight?"

He didn't even need to say, but he did, "As long as you like. Let me go run you a bath." When he came back, she was still in the chair – hadn't moved. "Liz?" She jolted back to reality at his voice, though he made it as soft as possible. He led her to the bathroom down the hall.

"What if they followed me here?"

He helped her out of her leggings, felt her soft skin underneath. He unzipped her dress, struggled with the stupid belt for it, watched her stand in the light of his bathroom; pale and frightened, but pretty. And he sat outside that damn door the whole forty minutes of her bath; head against the wood, glaring up at the ceiling. She'd been crying – sobbing, really. He couldn't take it. This city, man. This damn city.

Normally, staring at the cracks in the ceiling put Harvey to sleep, but he was awake still when he heard Lizzy reach for the doorknob and he probably looked like a putz trying to scramble to his feet.

Towel-clad in the doorway. Hair wet. Pretty. Harvey swallowed hard at seeing so much skin.

"Oh. Clothes. Right, uh…" he turned the wrong way then stumbled back toward his bedroom, rifling through drawers until he found a t-shirt and some boxers. Returning with them, he handed them to her. "Sorry, s'all I got."

She shook her head. "Thank you. I don't mean to be a bother."

"No, no…"

She gently pushed the door, leaving it cracked just the slightest as she dressed in the bathroom. Typically, he'd try to sneak a peek, but Lizzy was a lady and he didn't want to push his luck. Until she opened the door and stood there, brushing her fingers through her hair, his shirt  _just_ covering her upper thigh. And no bra on. Her pert nipples pressed against the shirt only enough for Harvey to notice. She bent forward and began slipping his boxers on. He looked away, cleared his throat, scratched the back of his neck, took a breath.  _Fuck…_

Without warning, Lizzy gently wrapped her arms around his middle and pressed her ear to his chest. Returning the embrace, Harvey heard her breathe in his scent of cigs, whiskey, and leather. He held her tightly, wanted to whisper something about how it would be okay and he'd take care of it, but he just kept thinking of their conversation in his car those weeks ago. The night they both admitted how fucked up their past relationships had been. She'd confessed that she was abused by her ex, and now he had a name.

"Do you think he's here?" Harvey finally managed to mumble.

She seemed to stop breathing, but shook her head violently. "No. No, he can't be. He's in jail. He can't get out now. It hasn't been enough  _time_."

He nodded at that, deciding that they needed to get names of the two men who jumped her. As soon as he let go to get a notepad, he heard her start laughing. Two steps and he stopped. Maybe it was a joke. Sick. What a sick, demented concept if it were.

"I was going to make dinner for you, but the cats in the alley are probably eating all my groceries," her smile didn't reach her eyes like it usually did, but at least she wasn't crying anymore.

"Want somethin'? We could order Chinese."

She sniffed, nodding politely and feeling like a child. "I could use something." As he got his pad of paper, he watched Liz silently examine the place. Her eyes darted to every corner and he felt extremely defensive. But when she looked back at him, there was no judgment, no hostility or humor in her eyes. "Are you happy here?"

He grunted, ignoring her question and pulling out the takeout menu for a nearby Chinese joint. His kitchen was near empty minus a few essentials: beer, hard liquor, takeout menus galore, and a few frozen pizzas in the freezer. He had  _maybe_ ten dishes to use, a few cups, some silverware. Nothing matched like it had at Lizzy's. He'd picked up stuff from a Goodwill when he first moved in, and he'd broken a majority of that stuff, the klutz.

While they waited for their food to be delivered, he handed back her phone and she felt so much guilt for not having it earlier, especially when she saw the missed calls from him. She gave him the information he wanted on Ian and William, though she knew they were probably long gone. The dark circles under his eyes and the way he spoke to Jim when he called it in made her feel guilty. For returning to Gotham, for requiring him to protect her. All of the power she'd felt from her encounter with Penguin was gone, all of the status she felt she'd received from just being invited to Oswald's was taken down a peg. Once again Jack was making her feel worthless. And angry. So much fury filled her.

But she was a different person now. She had a life. Her mistakes were behind her. The bloodshed, the pure rage, the fear she knew she could inflict.

When the knocking started at the door, Lizzy tensed and let Harvey answer it, the phone between his ear and shoulder. The food had arrived and he paid without speaking to the delivery girl, but hung up the phone and locked the door after.

"Well, Jim's starting a file on this. We'll take care of it." Only his words seemed tense and she could tell he was lying; there was just as much doubt in Harvey about this as she had. "Did they get any information on you? Anything about where you lived or your work? Did they take your wallet?"

"I got it back," she said slowly. "But they saw my badge for Arkham…" her eyes went wide as she jolted up and dug through her purse. "They kept it." Great. Now she'd have to pay for another one.

Harvey narrowed his eyes, finding that weird, but not speaking another word about it. He got her a shitty plate and gave her the food and they sat on the couch watching shitty TV until she cuddled up to him and fell asleep.

He couldn't bring himself to move her when 2 a.m. rolled around and his back started hurting, but it didn't matter. Harvey didn't sleep that night anyway.


	23. Chapter 23

When 8:00 a.m. came, Harvey woke her, assuming she had work. His back and neck were stiff from sitting like that all night, and his eyes were probably bloodshot from not getting rest, but he was up thinking. He watched the woman grab her belt from her dress, pull off his boxers and put on her panties and leggings. The dress was a bloodstained mess from last night, so she was not wearing that to work and there was no way she was going home just yet.

"I'll take you to work," he mumbled, cracking his back as he stood in the hallway. "Pick ya up, too."

"I should probably go back home after work. Yanno, to wear women's clothes." She laughed. Harvey thought she looked put together in one of his dress shirts, that belt, leggings, and heels. "Gonna get some strange looks today, I'm sure."

He wanted to say 'you look great,' wanted to compliment her and kiss her, but there was this overwhelming sense of foreboding that enveloped him. Harvey wasn't superstitious, but something was telling him that the unholy ground had been walked upon, that things were only going to get bloodier from here.

She knew he'd been looking at her cuts, just like she'd been gazing at his bloodshot eyes. If he hadn't let her stay last night, she wouldn't have slept. And she  _knew_ he was up all night. She could tell by the way he was avoiding eye contact. He seemed shaken and she knew pretty words weren't going to calm him.

A soft pat on his shoulder and they left shortly after. Harvey was stoic, but trying to make small talk and actually let her convince him to get a Danish from a shop they passed on their way to Arkham. Harvey felt sick pulling up to the building. Felt like he was dropping her off and she wasn't coming back. But she gave him a quick kiss and a 'see you soon' and she was gone before he blinked.

Jim was on his heels that morning; asking everything about the situation last night, pestering for something –  _anything –_ that would lead to their arrests. Harv had nothing, which bothered him to no end. But Jim was comforting, reassuring him;  _'we'll find them'_  and  _'don't worry'_. He even let him take a half hour to drive around the area, hoping those scumbags were still around. Of course they weren't and Jim was sure to bring Harvey right back to the present when he started spouting obscenities, slamming his hands on the steering wheel.

"Harv, I get it, it was bad."

"No! Jim, you don't. Do you have any idea what it was like to go to her place and not know where she was? To  _find_ her, bleeding, torn up, on my doorstep?"

"No," he said flatly.

"She was just…terrified, man…yanno? Like…" he almost said ' _like the vics we see every day'_ , but he swallowed down bile instead. This  _tore him apart_. Harvey could not discern from his anger or his terror. He felt like screaming or drinking. He felt like drowning.

"And you just let her go to work?"

"She pushed, man. She  _wanted_ to go. One of those 'I need to pretend like everything's alright' kinda things." At this, Jim gave him a look that read  _sounds familiar_ , but Harvey shook his head. "She'd call this coping, I'm sure. God, man, I'm worried."

Jim paused. "You really care about her, don't you, Harvey?" All the months they worked together, it was finally sinking in. All the hookers and the flings…this was different.

"Stop! Just…stop," the last bit was quieter than he'd expected.

So he stopped and Harvey let Jim distract him with the current case, let Jim bribe him with food, pretended he  _forgot_ that Lizzy was at work bruised and broken.

Lizzy got reamed from her supervisor that day, even after she explained that she got mugged. That fact didn't matter. All her supervisor cared about was that she couldn't get in the door this morning without waiting for another staff member. She had her cash for the ID and a fake apologetic smile, but apparently it wasn't enough. End of the day, she walked out with her badge in hand, toward Harvey's car. She startled him when she opened the door. He'd been resting with his head against the headrest, eyes closed, hands clasped together on his belly.

"Your place, right?" his sleepy eyes took in her outfit of choice from that morning. She nodded. "I just need to grab a few things…"

She convinced him to drop her off so she could get started on dinner. Sure, that was part of the plan, but the other half she refused to tell Harvey was that she needed to let her fear subside. She couldn't live in fear of being alone, but she was also petrified about sleeping alone tonight. Ruefully he agreed and soon she was standing unaccompanied in her apartment after the long climb up the stairs.

The mirror was not her friend currently. Every glance into the reflective glass reminded her of the beaten woman she'd been years before. Makeup to cover the bruises, Neosporin to heal the scrapes – it was not a life she wanted to go back to, but it was the life she was reliving at the moment. Flashbacks, memories, all surrounding the two in the alley as well as their boss – Jack. She remembered letting them hide money under the floorboards in her home, cleaning off bloodied knives in an attempt to help so they wouldn't use them on her. She remembered Jack bringing ' _business partners'_  home – men, women – to  _convince_ them why they should invest in his trade. They sold drugs, they killed people, they kidnapped, held hostage, robbed…all with Jack leading the fray. He didn't have to lift a finger after he was done in the bedroom with the 'business partners'; 'convincing them' why they should trust the group.

And there she was: the housemother; the one who knew all about the goings on in her little group of 'friends', but said nothing. There was the one time Jack brought some poor girl over to the house. She was young – younger than her – maybe 17. Jack was bargaining with her rich parents to let him help with their company's finances and the girl was clearly intrigued with Jack. How could you not be? His blonde, wavy hair, those pretty brown eyes, the thin lips, a smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes, that tall lanky build; Jack was attractive. And that's how he drew everyone in.

As soon as Jack brought the young girl in the house, kissing at her neck, then muttering  _be right back_ , she met eyes with the girl. Elizabeth had been washing dishes – anything to busy her hands at the time – when she noticed the deer-in-the-headlights look.

"Jack said he didn't have a girlfriend," the girl whispered, stepping closer.

Elizabeth had this response ingrained in her after the beating she'd received the first night she drove a woman out. "Oh, I'm his sister, Heather, it's nice to meet you," but she didn't say it this time. She didn't because this girl still had a baby face. This girl probably had lacy panties that had the day of the week in cursive on the front, covering her shaved nether regions. She was probably just starting her senior year in high school a few blocks away from this house. She probably still believed that  _popping a cherry_ was  _supposed_  to happen during your first sexual experience.

So Elizabeth sat her down while Jack was down the hall, making a phone call to his men and telling them to call her parents – tell them they had their daughter and the only way to get her back was by handing over a large sum of money.

Her eyes were hollow and they caught the girl's attention. No words were spoken, all she did was lift her shirt to show the dark purple, almost gray bruise on her hip. She lifted it higher, up to the underwire of her bra to show the different colors of the bruising – from green, almost healed, to deep purple, fresh. The girl covered her mouth and Lizzy felt pained. Never had she shown anyone. She had been beaten so much she felt like this was normal. Normal people don't lift their shirts to show other people their perfect skin. Her reaction almost lit something in Lizzy; almost.

"Please, go," was the only thing she told the girl. And without further questions, she ran from the house. Elizabeth scrambled to her feet after the side door slammed, returning to the sink to dry the rest of the dishes.

Within minutes, Jack had her on the ground, pulling her hair to hold her head up as he punched at her hip bones. The dish broken on the floor cut her arms as she tried to scramble away.

But that felt like a lifetime ago. She was here now; different kitchen, different dishes, different man she was making dinner for.

When she heard a key in the lock, she peeked around the corner. Harvey stood with two bags in his hands and two leather coats draped over his arms. She didn't know what to think. He was staying the night and hadn't needed much the previous nights he'd stayed. This had to be a joke. Harvey would like to lighten the mood lately, she was sure, but his heavy look meant otherwise.

"Guess your friends decided to break into my apartment," Harvey tossed his stuff to the floor, closing the door with his foot. "Guess whose landlord has had it with him."

"Did they take anything?" the question fell from her tongue before she remembered who she was talking to. Harvey liked to remind her again and again that he didn't have much. In fact, maybe what he'd brought with him was all he had.

"No. Don't got much to take," he paused, lifted the bags. "Only important stuff in my apartment. Mind if I drop it here for safe keeping?" The place had a security system, which wouldn't keep  _everyone_ out, that was for sure, but it would be better than the shit lock Harvey had at his place. Lizzy nodded, taking a coat from him then leading him into the spare bedroom. "Landlord tried to kick me out tonight, but I fought it. I just paid this month's rent two weeks ago. He gave me a week to get out."

Harvey couldn't help the frustration he felt. He sank against the bed, pinching the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. Lizzy sat beside him, placed a hand on his shoulder.

"You can always stay here."

"No," he answered almost immediately. He would not. Harvey didn't like leeching off of people. Moving in with his girl was taking things too fast, even if it was temporary. That's how he usually played it, but then again this relationship wasn't usual by any means. "Thank you, but I'll figure it out."

"There have to be a bunch of available apartments still. There were a lot when I was looking to move here."

"Yeah, but it ain't so easy for a cop," he huffed "Falcone and Maroni own these businesses. Falcone's places, I can get into, no problem so much as I don't stick my nose where it doesn't belong. Maroni's? Forget it."

Lizzy bit her tongue. "Who owns this building?"

Harvey grunted, "Falcone."

"Then get one here. Ms. Mulner moved out a few days ago, I know for sure. It should be opening up to rent soon."

"Hate to break it to ya, kid, but this place is a  _little_  outta my price range." He stood, opened the closet, hung his jackets, grabbed his duffel and unzipped it. Some of his dad's old stuff, some cash, some jewelry from his mom, and other expenses filled the bag. Zipping it shut again, he pushed it to the corner of the closet and shut the door.

Harvey hated this. He spent ten minutes searching through his place, making sure the few things he cared about were accounted for – and that meant lifting up floorboards and trying to remember where he  _hid_ everything. It was tempting to call Jim, ask where he was staying and drop his stuff off before going to Lizzy's; not even tell her what happened. Truth be told, he felt like an idiot and admitting he needed help was easier with Lizzy than his partner, so he hadn't called Jim.

The room had been destroyed. They slashed his mattress, broke what dishes he had left, tore up that old couch, broke his table. Nothing too serious; he'd seen high school kids do much worse with much less. But it still pissed him off. Because they must have followed her there after the beating, must have staked out and found out who he was. That only meant maybe her home was next.

"I'm gonna have someone keeping an eye on this place when no one's home," he said, pretending he couldn't see the look of pure fear on her face. "And I'll start looking for apartments tomorrow. I don't want to be a burden."

She knew that comforting him wasn't going to help, so she bit her tongue. She wanted him to stay for quite some time. Things were easy when he was with her. She felt protected, she actually felt useful making dinner for him, it was less lonely, and he was actually sleeping. It was an exhaustive list that she surely wouldn't recite to the man. So she went to the kitchen to start dinner.

Harvey was tempted to offer her help – he was – but he sat himself at the kitchen table and watched her work. Neither of them spoke. Arm rested on the table, fist against his cheek, he thought of the fuzzy details she never filled him in on. They were both very private people, but a part of him wanted to know more. Who was she in Ohio? Did she still keep in touch with college friends? Was she ever going to tell him more about her other relationships? Did he  _want_ her to?

Lizzy stood by the stove, staring down at the tile floor. She wondered why she'd come back to Gotham. Why she felt the need to put other people in danger simply to get away from it herself. Harvey's pure fear was enough to send her over the edge, make her move out of this city. Gotham had enough problems. Harvey had enough problems. He shouldn't be worried about her. She felt guilty for living some days.

The rest of the evening, Harvey didn't touch her – didn't hold her like he wanted to. There was this vibe in the room that told him she needed to be left alone, but not enough for him to leave. Dinner was quick, they sat on the couch and watched TV, and after hours, he finally felt her tension lessen so he placed his hand on her knee but removed it when she jumped.

 _'He'd started hitting me on parts of my body that people wouldn't see,'_ she'd said months back. Harvey wanted to throw up. He didn't want to be that guy, didn't want her to think he could raise a hand to her, but the alley probably brought all those memories back. '

"I'm going to do everything in my power to keep you safe," he spoke without breaking gaze from the TV. "No one is gonna hurt you again."

And Lizzy ogled at him, mouth agape, breath hitched. She felt transparent, but for once it was comforting.

She said, "I know," and kissed him deeply before urging him to get some sleep. He'd made her promise to wake him if she had nightmares, but they both knew she wouldn't.

An hour into Harvey's rest, there was a knock at the door. The noise startled Liz, but after a glance in Harvey's direction she realized he was still sleeping. Had she imagined it, she wondered. Tentatively, she made her way to the door, grabbing Harvey's gun from the holster on the table. She hid it behind her back before cracking the door open.

As she opened, she was face-to-chest with none other than Butch Gilzean. The gun was put back in seconds, but she didn't let the man in. Instead, she snuck in the hallway with him, closing the door behind her.

"Butch, oh thank God you're alright." She'd heard from Harvey that Butch was missing but there was no other news last she'd heard. "Why do you have flowers…?"

"A gift. From Oswald," he spoke very slowly, almost calculating every syllable. He handed the bouquet to her. "He wants to apologize for the brash way he went about your conversation the other day."

Liz was silent a tick, eyeing Butch's expression with narrowed eyes. Something was off. He was working for Penguin now…? "Butch…" she raised her hand to touch a raised, pink mark on his forehead in the shape of a 'V'. As her hand drew closer, the large man startled.

"Don't! Please!-" his voice was booming and the last thing Liz needed at the moment was for Harvey to walk out that door and wonder just what Butch was doing there. Butch, who clearly now worked for Oswald; and Liz had failed to tell Harv about  _their_  encounter. The woman placed a hand over Butch's mouth and hushed him, to which he flinched again. "Sorry, ma'am," he hummed against her hand. "Ya got company?"

Elizabeth removed her hand, looking sheepish, nodding slowly. She sunk down against the wall, staring at the bouquet. "Oh, Butch, I'm in some big trouble…"

Her first reaction to getting attacked in that alley was to blame Penguin. Their conversation made her fearful, but upon discovering that it was Jack's friends she desperately wished it  _were_  Penguin. She could handle him. She could tell Harvey and be out of danger straight away. But Jack? That was a little different. That required honesty on her part and those details were things she didn't wish to convey to anyone. Not in this life, anyway.

Butch was on the ground beside her in moments, crouching down, holding out a large hand but retracting it momentarily. "Oswald can help. I know he can."

Eyes filling with tears, Liz looked up at the man. Did he really believe in Penguin? The same guy who was rubbing Ms. Mooney's feet months prior, he now worked  _for?_ And how did that even  _happen?_ Lizzy had a horrid gut feeling that something was terribly off with the man.

"What's happened to you?" she spoke softly, reaching her fingers out to grab his. "You can tell me."

The twitching; the uncontrollable  _twitching_  haunted her. Butch moved like a misfiring robot, like something was wired wrong suddenly. But he wouldn't talk. He tensed up, stopped breathing momentarily.

She took the flowers. Gave him her new cell phone number. Told him to call her when he needed to talk – and she knew he would. Harvey was still sleeping when she quietly closed the door.

For a full minute, she stood over the garbage can, hand paused above it, debating if she should toss the flowers. Thinking better of it, she put them in a vase with water. Mind racing, she smelled the sweet scent, and then sauntered off to her bedroom.

Try as she might, she couldn't get Butch's twitching out of her mind.

_Tick…Tick…Tick._


	24. Chapter 24

For the past three days, Harvey had been staying at his place, just in case someone came back to finish the number they'd started. Of course no one did. Lizzy had told him they probably high-tailed it out of town upon discovering she was dating a cop. It shouldn't have made Harvey feel so proud and giddy. The old man still had it.

Sleeping on a cut up mattress was interesting to say the least. After spending a night sleeping sitting up in a chair, he decided to stuff cushions in the tear on his mattress. Good enough. A few days after the break in, he'd tossed a majority of the broken items, did some cleaning house, made sure to buy the paper every morning to look for a new place. When Jim saw him reading the paper, he got curious. Harvey wasn't just going to  _lie_ to him, there was no use. When he told the white knight what'd happened, he got that determined, tight-jawed look. It was humorous, really. Jim had just found a place, but started spending nights with the good doctor Thompkins. Jim told him that his couch was up for grabs whatever night he needed, but Harvey didn't even acknowledge the offer. He'd find something.

For the first time in weeks, Harvey knew he had a full day off. He planned to spend it sleeping until two in the afternoon, calling to look at apartments, then taking Lizzy out to dinner after she got back from work. She was just at GCPD that day, so he knew she wouldn't be late. Sounded nice. In theory.

And then he got a call from his sister, Diane, practically weeping that she needed someone to watch Talia and Delilah in the morning. Harvey gave a definite 'no' and hung up shortly after, but was woken at 8 a.m. by a knock at the door and his nieces in tow.

"I said  _no_ , Diane."

"I know that, but I called everyone else I know in Gotham and no luck. I promise, it'll only be a few hours. I'm signing the divorce papers today." She ushered the older one inside and handed the younger to Harvey, who tried his best not to drop her.

" _Hours_?"

She nodded, handing a bag to Harvey. "Diapers are in the front pouch, formula is in the pocket. Give it to her after you prepare it. If she doesn't drink it right away, refrigerate it; but only for  _one_ hour. Any more and it needs to be thrown out. The pureed food is in the back pocket, anything else you need should be in there too." Talia, the older of the two, pushed a stroller into Harvey's living room, then began jumping on his shoddy couch. Shit, he hoped it could take the activity after the break in.

"Diane, I-" but the door slammed in his face when he turned back to his sister.

Harvey tried – really,  _truly_  tried – to get by without calling Lizzy. He'd let Talia have the remote to his TV, carried Delilah to his room to hide the skin mags under his mattress, and dug through that diaper bag for a toy for the young one. He was tired of hearing it cry. A headache pounded at his temples and he weakly picked up the phone to dial Lizzy. She  _had_ to be home still. Yet no answer. Then he tried her cell phone, hoping she'd finally gotten in the habit of tossing it in her purse before she went out. But he knew she'd been forgetting to charge the thing. When it went right to voicemail, he knew she'd gone to work early.  _Damn it!_ So he called Jim, hoping to God this thing didn't start crying again.  _That_ would be embarrassing.

"Harvey, you're awake at this hour," came the monotone voice on the other line.

"Cut the crap. Is Lizzy there yet?"

"Uhh…yeah, just walked in. She's stopped by Ed."  _Of course._

Harvey almost asked what she was wearing, but bit his tongue. "Can I talk to her quick? Promise no longer than two minutes." He probably didn't even have two minutes without the girls screaming over the phone.

Ruefully, Jim did it. Got the phone to her and probably walked away, aware that she'd return the thing when their conversation was over. Relief flooded him when she answered.

"What's wrong, Harv, bad dreams?" she joked, but with his history it wasn't in the best taste.

"Bad reality. Hey, could you get off work today? I need a favor."

"If this is one of those 'I've-got-morning-wood-and-could-use-your-assistance' favors, that'd be a no."

"Har har, funny, Ohio. Listen, my idiot of a sister dropped off two bundles of joy on my doorstep for the day and I could use your help."

Elizabeth hadn't even known he'd had a sister – let alone nieces or nephews. "Uh, sure, I could probably ask Cap to give me the day." God knew most cops were busy with cases lately – they didn't have the time to stop in for a psych eval.

And she was at his door within the half hour, work clothes still on, heels and a pretty dress. The way she  _looked_ at Delilah with those full open lips and a soft smile made him want to breathe relief. She took her from him instantly, holding her like all women seem to know how, arms wrapped protectively, hands gentle on her sides, hip jutting out to balance.

"Oh my God, how old is she?"

Before Harvey could answer, Talia was at her heels. "That's Delilah and she's seven months and ten days old."

Lizzy raised an eyebrow, taking her eyes off Delilah momentarily. "Really? And how old are you?"

"My name's Talia and I'm five."

Harvey groaned. "Thanks for showing, Liz, I had no idea what to do."

"Yeah, Uncle Harvey is boring and his house sucks. Can we go to the zoo?"

Lizzy chuckled, shaking her head then stepping forward to close the door with her heel. "I don't think Uncle Harv is up to that right now, Talia."

"Who are you, anyway?" the girl narrowed her eyes.

"I'm Elizabeth."

"And how old are  _you_?"

Lizzy chuckled. "I'm twenty-eight."

"That's old." Talia circled Lizzy. "But you dress nice."

"Okay, that's enough of 20 questions for today, Talia, go play." Harvey felt his headache rearing its ugly head again at the reminder of her age. He'd been fucking a twenty-eight year old for how long now? This was supposed to feel like an ego-boost, but he felt shame more often than he'd like to admit.

"Play? With what?"

Lizzy wasn't even paying attention. He watched her walk into the living room and sit on his shit couch with Delilah on her lap. The girl was quiet now, staring with big brown eyes at Lizzy and playing with the ends of her burgundy hair. Harvey felt warm, felt overwhelmed with guilt and a slight happiness burying itself deep. He ground his teeth and sighed.

"Harvey, we could take them somewhere," Lizzy was looking at the stroller now, then taking a glance around the apartment. "You probably don't have much in the way of kid-friendly entertainment, nor is this place baby-proofed." He looked at the wall outlets and his gun on the kitchen table, which he grabbed quickly and put on the TV stand – far out of the reach of Talia.

"Right. Yeah, uh…gimme a minute." He went into his room to change and stare at the cash in his wallet. Good. He'd gotten paid Thursday, they'd be okay for the day. "Where we goin'?" he emerged from the room to see Talia showing Lizzy ballet moves.

"The zoo!"

Harvey knew that was a tragedy waiting to happen. "No. Where else?"

"There's that playground near here," Lizzy stood, holding Delilah still. "We could start there." Talia screamed at this, running circles around Harvey.

" _Kid!_ Stop," he snapped, holding his temples. When the baby started crying, he gave this wide-eyed  _not again_ look and watched Lizzy from the corner of his eye. She bounced the girl on her lap, shushing and humming to her. The crying stopped after a bit.

So they got ready for the playground, despite his fear of taking them outside. Something could happen. Talia could run off. This was a big city with lots of people and buildings, lots of  _fucked up_ people and  _abandoned_ buildings. This was a disaster.

After popping a few Advil, Harvey watched Liz ease the baby into the stroller and grab the diaper bag. She inquired about a blanket for them to sit on in the grass, mentioning the Delilah would probably like to crawl. Then they were off, out the door, walking down the street, yelling after a five-year-old and pushing a baby in a stroller. It was a beautiful day, but Harvey didn't pay much attention to it at first. He felt like he had tunnel vision; felt like things were moving and he was staying stagnant and this could  _not_ be happening. Not now. It'd been going so well between the two of them. This was just a reminder of how selfish he was.

And then there were the comments: parents at the playground asking them how old Delilah was and commenting about how nice it was that  _grandpa_ came along for a playdate. Harvey was livid at that one, but it only happened once. All the other moms were asking how long they'd been together, how old Talia was, how much they loved being parents. They'd denied that the kids were theirs the first few times, but then Harvey found himself lying.

"She's seven months old" and "we're been together a while." Lizzy was asked how hard the pregnancy was and how she lost all that weight that fast. "Yoga," she'd said and Harvey's mind drifted.

"Uncle Harvey, come push me!" Talia called from the swings and thus their cover was blown to a few disapproving mothers. Lizzy got a good laugh out of that as they stormed away. It was good to see her smiling again after the incident(s) the other day.

"She's still yours though, right?" the one nosy mother who stayed was still pestering Lizzy when Harvey got up to help his niece with the swing.

"Oh, yes, Talia just loves to play with her cousin, so we're been spending a lot of time together," Harvey heard Lizzy lie.

And he watched her, the way she held Dalilah as she cried or fed her the formula. She'd set her down and let her crawl around on the blanket. Lizzy looked like she was in heaven, like this was made for her. She could pull off the mom look, Harvey decided. She'd be a damn  _good_ mom.

Then the ache set itself between his fourth and fifth rib. That 'I'm-not-good-enough' ache that he seemed to feel quite often.

By the time Talia wanted to get food, Lizzy mentioned that it would be a good time to go somewhere where she could change Dalilah. God, Harvey was glad she showed up. So as they ordered ice cream at a shop, Liz took her to the bathroom and changed her. She came back with a happier-looking baby and a 'thanks' for the ice cream.

"So Cap didn't give you a hard time about leaving?"

She shook her head. "No, more of a humored glance when I told her why."

Harvey narrowed his eyes, staring over at his niece. Cute kids, really, but he would not be able to do this alone. "I really appreciate you coming today."

"Uncle Harvey, is Miss Liz your  _girlfriend_?" Talia spoke as only five-year-olds know how to.

Harvey pursed his lips but let out an exasperated sigh. "Yes, she is."

"So you have cooties now?" she asked Lizzy who nodded sternly.

"Only the worst kind!"

"Ew!"

The rest of the day was sort of…calm? As calm as a day with children can be. They went back to Harvey's and Liz made lunch for Talia while the baby slept – toasted cheese because that was about all Harvey had in his kitchen that a kid would eat.

Harvey found some cheesy kid's show and went to sit with Liz in the kitchen. He groaned as he fell into the chair.

"God, this is exhausting,"

She smiled sweetly, running her fingers through his hair as she went to sit on his lap.

"You love it," she winked. "You never told me about your family. I didn't know."

Harvey hummed. "Not somethin' I go spoutin' on about. Family ain't all it's cracked up to be. And if I recall, you've been less-than-candid about your family too." Her breath caught in her throat. "So, you got siblings?"

She nodded. "I got a baby sister."

"Yeah?"

"She's not really in the picture anymore. Married some asshole she met in college in California. Jack tried getting with her. She didn't approve of us. Didn't even tell me about the wedding. Haven't talked to her in years. I'm sure she doesn't even know…" she paused when Dalilah started crying in the living room.

When she got up to get her, Harvey followed and caught Talia watching some soap opera. "Abuse your TV privileges, it's off." He used the remote to turn it off and Talia pouted and stormed into the kitchen, Harvey following close behind in case she was on a path of destruction.

"You wanna try feeding her?" Lizzy sat at the kitchen table with Delilah on her lap.

Harvey was tentative, but pulled the food out of the bag. This stuff looked rather foul, but he opened it anyway and sat down with a spoon, knees touching Lizzy's. He scooped some and held it toward Delilah's mouth, the girl looking at him curiously. God, this was so fucking stupid. Why was he bothering?

But she opened her mouth and ate it up. Harvey was surprised; he'd gotten a kid to do something he wanted them to do. "Alright!" he cheered.

Liz loved the way Harvey was with his nieces. He still seemed a little tentative about a lot of things, but she watched impressed with the way he fed Delilah with no issue.

"You burping her?" she raised an eyebrow as he set down the food and spoon.

"What!?" before he could get up, she placed the baby in his arms. "Liz, c'mon!" Of course she helped him, showed him how to hold her, where to tap on her back, how gently. "How are you so good at this?"

"I babysat," she shrugged.

There was a knock at the door which Harvey got just in time for Delilah to burp. He laughed, opening the door to his sister looking frazzled.

"Oh, Harvey, I didn't hear any yelling – didn't think you were home." As she spoke, Harvey could hear Liz's heel clicks on the floor behind him. "Who…?"

"Mommy, mommy! Uncle Harvey and Miss Liz took me to the park an' bought me ice cream an' made me lunch an' played with me on the swings!" Talia ran in the room, hugging her mother's legs.

"Hope you didn't mind me getting a little help," Harvey handed Delilah to Diane

"No, not at all…" so she was shocked to see a woman in his apartment. Not angry, he'd noted. "Harvey, can I talk to you…?" So they went outside and left Lizzy with Talia. Harvey knew what was coming; what are you doing with that young woman? But to his surprise, she pat him on the shoulder and beamed. "Big bro! Good for  _you_!"

"Uhh…thanks?"

"She's  _pretty_. Can she see well? I mean, she's with  _you_." Harvey narrowed his eyes and tried not to snap at her. "I'm kidding, Harvey. Good for you. Any intention of marrying her?"

This was why he never spent time with his sister. He never brought any woman around her and she would  _pester_ him about getting married and starting a family. Because  _her_ marriage went so well…

"Your papers signed now? You done with Phil? Give him the rings back?"

"I know what you're doing, and just because my marriage failed doesn't mean yours would. Harvey, think about it. Young girl like that doesn't stay around for long. Especially with a guy like you."

"Thanks."

And he went to open the door back up, grab the diaper bag, and hand it–wordlessly–to his sister. Liz stood and called Talia over.

"I'm Diane," his sister greeted. "It's nice to see my brother with someone for once. Hope you stick around."

"Goodbye, Diane," Harvey groaned.

"Next time I'll just drop the girls off with you," she joked and winked at Liz before putting Delilah in the stroller and leaving with the kids.

Harvey slammed the door and locked it, cracking his neck and rubbing his temples. "Fucking Hell, what a day."

Liz smiled tentatively. "I thought it was fun."

 _She would_. Of course she would. Women love kids. Harvey never wanted to admit that he tolerated them. They were always loud and messy. But he had to admit today wasn't bad. When he had help with them, it wasn't  _painful._

"Thanks again," he started to say, but heard her cell phone ringing in her purse. She rushed to grab it, confusion on her features. When she looked at the name on the screen her eyes lit up and she answered.

"Alfie!" she'd given him the new number a few days before. "How are you and Bruce?"

"Quite well," the butler droned on the other line, rocking from heel to toe as he stood in the kitchen. Bruce sat in the study, entertaining Cat. "Master Bruce was curious if you'd like to come for some dinner this evening. You can bring your 'squeeze' if you like. If he's not busy." Alfred was testing the waters, as it were, wondering if the detective had changed his mind.

"Oh, absolutely!" she replied, to which Alfred felt relieved. He was pulling for them, really. His career path had pulled him far from any option of having a stable relationship and by now he felt too old. Watching Elizabeth's heartbreak and sensing how greatly the detective cared for her made Alfred reflective.

"I'll see you at six, then?"

Lizzy agreed, hanging up then slowly turning to Harvey. She bit at her lower lip and he raised a brow. "Oh, I know what that is: you want somethin'."

"Alfred just invited us to dinner at the Wayne's," she began. "But there's something I have to tell you first." Harvey didn't interrupt her. "I don't know how to word this…erm…Alfred and I…"

"You slept together," Harvey spoke in the most monotone voice, his eyes narrowing.

"Yes. Well, no. Not like  _that_ ," only Harvey was shaking his head and trying not to freak out. "We slept in the same bed the night you basically told me we'd never work." Harvey held his breath a moment. "We kissed a bit. That was it."

Harvey wouldn't admit it, but that burned. Yes, what'd happened with Fish and Scottie was bad. Black mark on his record, blah blah, but  _this._ Harvey would have rather they fucked. Rather it been heated and sexual, than  _intimate_. He wanted to be the only one she laid with at night. Sure, he'd slept with his fair share, but when it was through, someone left.  _Maybe_ once Harvey had fallen asleep at some chick's house because he'd been overworked on the job that week. But since his last relationship? No. No one. Liz. That was it.

For her to tell him this, it buried itself deep in his spinal cord and he knew it would jab him every once in a while just from conceptualizing it. He probably  _held her._ Felt her body heat, saw those creamy thighs, kissed her goodnight. Of all the unlucky things in all the world…that's where she was when Harvey was trying to call her. That's where she was when he realized that they'd met at the bar a decade before. That's where she was when he was at his place, drinking on the kitchen floor and feeling  _shitty_ for his outburst.

Liz was asking if he was okay. Apologizing like crazy while he was stuck in his head. "It's fine," he finally decided. "I made mistakes, you have. We're square." Relief flooded her features.

"So we can still go to dinner?" She'd asked. He'd reluctantly said 'yes', and it earned him a long kiss while she backed him against the wall. She gave him a simple smirk before she got down on her knees before him. "Watching you play house today was a  _little_ overwhelming for me," she joked but Harvey loved how she looked on her knees. Those pretty legs and full lips, her pupils dilated, hands quick to undo his belt and zip.

Trousers around his ankles, Harvey felt himself spring out as she slid his boxers down. Greedy hands settled on his shaft, thumb gently tracing over his tip. There was an intake of breath from Harvey as she slid him into her warm mouth.

"Jesus..."

Harvey's head hit the wall when she took him all the way in, then pulled back. Her fingers ghosted over his balls, then ran down the length of his thighs.

And she  _stopped._  He'd let  _'cocktease'_ slip from his lips before he realized it and he doubted she'd take well to that – but she went right back to what she'd been doing. She was  _good_. As that mouth worked him into oblivion, Harvey couldn't help but get loud. Now that they weren't just fooling around, Harvey felt comfortable. The dirty talk began. So did the hair pulling and the guiding of her head, bobbing on him, showing her just how he liked it.

Liz felt a surge of power running through her. She'd never experienced anything like it before. With her ex, it was just his pleasure, the room was silent, and there was never anything intimate about the moment. It sometimes felt like she could imagine the women he was picturing while they fucked or she sucked him. Without really knowing anything more, she assumed this was how sex was for everyone. Life couldn't be some trashy romance novel – those things just didn't happen. And she'd had orgasms before. But she couldn't help herself from thinking of Harvey that night. The way he instructed her, the positions he let her try, the  _climax_. Those past orgasms totaled together didn't come close to what she experienced that night. Perhaps it was the intimacy she felt with Harv. Perhaps it was the fact that she could  _finally_ let down her walls, pretend to be something other than herself for one night. Or maybe he was just that good.

Lizzy was finally in control of her own pleasure – giving it and receiving it. And this quick blowjob before dinner? This was a way for her to prove that she only had eyes for him – that Alfred had been almost  _platonic_. The pleased smirk he gave her as she stood up – finished – wiping her swollen lower lip made her quite aware that the message had been received. He smacked her, hard, on the ass and kissed her deeply.

Dinner, it was.


	25. Chapter 25

Silence. No movement. No heel clicks on the floor from overweight guards. No motion lights turning on. Nothing. For an hour, at least. Just as he'd told him.

Ian and Will's little meeting was enlightening that Thursday afternoon. Now it was Saturday evening and things were about to change. She  _was_ working in her field, after all the hassle to change her identity. Clearly she'd rubbed elbows with the right big wig of the university and they'd allowed the reprinting of her diploma.

No worries. He knew he'd find her somehow.

Maybe Ian and Will weren't the most intelligent of his past groupies, but  _shit_  were they loyal. He'd gotten six years, at least, for all the charges they'd found him guilty of. Seventy-two months to rot. And he'd gone stir crazy at month six.

They'd been gone for the week. He knew because they didn't call or visit, which was fine. They were told to go and look for her. Rough her up, grab some information, and return. He was busy winning over the guards on good behavior for the week, molding some story of some broken home. But when they returned with that ID badge in hand, he couldn't help but cackle.  _This_ he hadn't expected. Sure, he knew she'd go home because mommy and daddy  _hated_ the idea of their precious little girl returning to that city. They both knew that he knew. And why should she change her plans because she was running from him? He had six years in this place with no likelihood of a breakout. So why worry?

She looked altered – changed –  _happy._ Cut her hair and dyed it red. Blue contacts removed to show those shit-browns he'd grown to hate. And the  _name_.

So there he was, a week later, brushing elbows with the pushover guard with the family and the  _kids_. Fine. Motion sensors: off, just as they'd spoken of. Gentle, quiet, walk past his cell to drop off the key, and he wouldn't come home to dead kids. Leverage, that's all you need.

The keys were cold in his hand as he unlocked the cell. Of course it squeaked. And he had insomniac cellblock mates whispering to let them out. Other circumstances, maybe he would. His fingers shifted across the sharp metal. It'd been a pain to hide in his shoe, but he managed after breaking it off of the lunchroom table a day before. No one would miss it. Knives were plastic and wouldn't do the job. He needed something sturdy.

The whole week, he'd been kindly asking the young male guard to let him talk to the onsite psychiatrist. And, boy, did he have her running through every diagnostic criterion. She suggested to him that he was depressed and maybe the voices he was hearing was schizophrenia and  _did he have any family members with this problem before_? 'Oh, yes,' he'd lie. Yes. Mom would talk to herself, she'd hallucinate, she was disorganized and struggled with avolition. He knew  _all_ of the diagnostic criterion thanks to a certain psychology major he'd lived with. So he knew how to play his cards and he knew that concerned knitting of the eyebrows and pursed-lipped look;  _she'd_ had it all the time.

So Monday they would consider bringing someone else in to take a look at him. And, boy, would they be sure to drop him off somewhere if they couldn't tolerate his behavior here. He was one step away from going to the loony bin. The Ridges in Athens was the closest, but things had changed recently and they were bussing patients all over. They liked to keep the insane close to relatives for possible improvements in treatment, years ago, and this place was no different. Counselling sessions and  _help me_ eyes with the family was always pleasant, he was sure. Plus with overcrowding of asylums in recent years they were trying to keep patient-to-clinician ratios stable. And what he'd heard was a certain city had just opened a new facility – hence the new job for Little Miss Lying Bitch. Jack had a way with people and after a  _little_ persuasion, he knew he'd get what he wanted. And damn it, if he didn't he wasn't afraid to break a few skulls to get there.

He sat in the doc's office for hours, waiting until he heard the flick of the lights back on, signifying morning. The metal searing his flesh didn't feel nearly as painful as he'd expected. It was just the corner of his mouth, just an upturned half-grin. Required a bit more pulling than he'd thought. If he'd had a  _knife_ he would have been home free – none of this choppy skin-slitting from a dull, dirty metal piece.

The bleeding was profuse though, and it probably hadn't helped that he was playing with the flapping flesh with his tongue.

He caked the heartfelt apology on. When Dr. Guera walked into her office to find Jack, he was crying and sputtering, bleeding and lightheaded. He'd dropped the metal, sobbed.  _The voices told me to do it. The voices! I need help. I want to kill._

Nurses, doctors, officers all filled the room shortly after. Listening to his sob story about the voices telling him to cut himself, to escape and look for victims, but his overwhelming drive to get help.

"The only one I trust here is you, Guera," it was hard to understand him with gauze in his mouth.

They had a meeting while he got doped up on pain meds. The walls were thin and he could hear them discussing how much of a burden he'd been, how frustrating and terrifying he could be, but Guera assured them that this was just the sickness making him into that man. How he needed help. He could be saved. He needed to be moved to a facility that could take care of him. Try therapy and look into his mother's condition. Only they wouldn't find anything on his mother. After all his time in the business, he'd destroyed every file on his family. His mother was never involved in his life. Joined a circus. Left him with his neighbor. He didn't even know her real name.

"Where is your family from?" they'd ask.

"Gotham," he'd sputter and the gauze would slur his speech and hide his lie.

And low-and-behold, he was on a bus to Arkham in the morning.

* * *

Alfred allowed Bruce to let Cat stay for dinner, though he didn't think she would want to. After discovering that Cat  _lied_ about seeing who killed Thomas and Martha, Alfred assumed he would lose interest in the girl. However, Cat silently sat at the table while he set it.

"Well, now, you going to be nice this evening? Detective Bullock will be here and I assume you're not on his good list."

Cat narrowed her eyes but said nothing.

"Alfred. That's enough," Bruce scolded. "Maybe it's  _you_ who should learn to be nice."

The butler straightened, biting the inside of his cheek when the doorbell rang. He threw the kitchen towel on the dining room table and it met the wood with a 'twap'. He was unbuttoning and then rolling his shirt sleeves up as he made his way to the foyer.

When he opened the door he was greeted by Elizabeth looking sharp in a red dress and heels, and Bullock looking…well…

"Thanks so much for having us!" she threw her arms around him in an embrace. Behind her, Alfred noticed Harvey wince. Had she  _told_ him?

"Right. Well, Master Bruce has decided to invite one more guest," Alfred led the two inside, taking their coats and waiting for Harvey's hat, which he begrudgingly removed.

"And who might that be?"

"Hi, ya." Cat stood in the foyer now, clad in her usual getup. "Long time no see."

"Cat!" Liz was actually pleased to see the girl. She worried about her often. Harvey rolled his eyes.  _Of all the painful nights…_

"Bullock, how's Jim?" Cat circled the three off them, alerting them she was on her guard – always.

"Jim's Jim. Same old ass pain he always is," Harvey grumbled. "Been stayin' outta trouble, there, Cat?"

"No." And she walked away.

"Pleasant, inn't she?" Alfred droned. "Well, dinner should be done in a mo. Please, make yourselves at home."

When Alfred walked away, Liz felt Harvey give her ass a squeeze. She didn't say anything – knew that he'd quit when they went by the kids. She was feeling a little guilty now, being in the manor for the first time since the night with Alfred.

"Elizabeth," Bruce stood from the table, making his way over to hug her awkwardly, then take a seat once again. "I am very glad you could make it."

Elizabeth wanted to ask him about the nightmares, the fear, the  _remembering_ , but that would all have to wait for another day. Truth be told, she missed them. She missed the simple counseling sessions with the young man. The criminals at Arkham were all damaged and sometimes the weight wore down on Lizzy. She knew Bruce's pain – understood it.

"Are things going well?" was all she managed to ask as she took a seat.

Bruce's expression tightened, his face lowering just a bit to hide it. "Not exactly."

Harvey gave Liz a sidelong glance when he sat. "Anything we can help with?"

Bruce straightened once again. "I met with Wayne Enterprises, raising my concerns of their goings on. Though my youth is irrelevant, they still treated me like a child. I fear that the company is funding some terrible things, but I have no substantive proof and so they will not take me seriously."

Liz looked over at Harvey who was staring contemplatively at the young man. His hand ran down his facial hair, eyes narrowed, head nodding slowly. "Right. Well, proof would do you good, but where do you think you'll get it? They'll just chuck it up to rumors."

"Exactly."

Cat shook her head. "It's bull," her arms were crossed over her chest. "If they're doing wrong, we should do something. Can't you do something?"

"No. Not without proof," Harvey spoke slowly.

"But if I find something?" Bruce lit up with hope. "Will you help me then?"

"Sure, kid."

Lizzy felt tense. Something wasn't sitting right with her. She could sense foreboding on Alfred's face when he entered the room. Clearly, he knew it too. But dinner was served and they ate quietly.

"Bruce, just please be safe…" Lizzy finally mentioned. "This city can be very dangerous and the people you're throwing accusations at are extremely powerful. There's no way to know who they know."

"She's right, sir," Alfred chimed in. "The look on the faces of those board members…" he shook his head.

Alfred changed the subject then, asking about things at GCPD which sent Harvey into a fit about some kid he'd mentioned before: Jerome. Apparently this kid was a killer – went after his mother and feigned innocence until Jim put two and two together. They sent him to Arkham and Liz knew he would be the talk of the floor come Monday morning. She finished her wine quickly, trying to cover the chills running down her spine.

The way they assigned patients was strange, but she knew she wouldn't be assigned to him. She already had five patients every day and she was working fewer hours than her coworkers, considering she was splitting time between GCPD and Arkham. Cathy was the next in line for a new patient because her sixth patient killed herself five days prior. Jerome would be her assignment and Lizzy thanked her lucky stars. She'd actually gotten pretty lucky when it came to Arkham lately – her patients weren't  _terrible_ and due to her lack of hours she'd completely missed the problems going on with Hugo Strange – the chief psychiatrist and director of their little building.

When the kids went to the study, Liz helped Alfred in the kitchen, though the man turned down her offer. Harvey was against the wall, arms crossed, mouth a hard line. They worked well together in the kitchen – seamlessly passing dishes to dry or wash, Liz knowing where each thing went in the cupboards. Fuck. The detective couldn't help but jump to conclusions and feel that weight in his chest. Intimacy. He was jealous of their intimacy.

"Dinner was a nice reprieve," she mentioned. "Thank you."

"As I've said, you're always welcome here," Alfred nodded then added "you as well, Bullock."

"Right."

Alfred stopped, mid-dry of his hands. "S'there a problem here?"

Harvey pushed himself off the wall, arms falling to his side, tie loosened around his neck, looking flustered and aggravated.

"Harvey-" Liz cut him off, stepping between the men, back pressed against Harvey's belly. "Alfie, I told him and he's not happy."

"Maybe if the dolt hadn't pushed you away-"

"It's not his fault. It's mine," she spoke.

"Right. And you just take that opportunity to step  _right_ in, don't ya, pal?" Harvey raised his voice, moving his hand to point at the butler.

"I didn't step in, you two-bit whackjob," Alfred took a step even closer and Lizzy felt herself getting angry. "Liz came looking for a shoulder and I gave it to her."

"You gave it to her, huh?" Harvey nodded, lips pursed, trying to step nearer to him. Liz could tell he was ready to fight.

"Stop it, both of you," she took a step away. "Nothing happened – bottom line. No one was stepping in anywhere. It's over now. Shake hands." It took a moment of shuffling feet and awkwardly looking at the floor, but they did shake hands, Harvey rolling his eyes after.

"I meant no harm, Bullock. Know that."

"Noted."

Elizabeth sighed, rubbing her temples and, shortly after, deciding it was time to leave. The boys followed her to the foyer where she put her coat on. "Alfred, aside from this, it was a nice evening."

The man nodded. "Detective, I hope this doesn't put a wedge between our acquaintanceship."

Harvey sighed, running a hand through his hair then putting his hat on. "Sorry. I-" he extended his hand again and Alfred took it to shake. "That was uncalled for. Thanks for the good eats."

Wonders never cease…

Harvey grabbed Lizzy's shoulder when she balanced to get her heels on and Alfred noted the pleased look she sent him. It made him remember the whole reason she'd stayed that night, the reason he felt heat in his belly every night he crawled into bed. Just her warmth ignited something in him that had been long at ease. The butler tottered on his heels then back to flat foot, hands falling behind him in a comfortable position as his eyes refocused on the couple before him. Harvey was kissing at a spot behind Lizzy's ear while the girl batted him away with a smile and tiny giggle.

She broke away to hug Alfred, thanking him once again before walking out the door. Harvey saluted him, following the girl. The man watched out the door as Harvey opened her car door, kissing her roughly on the mouth when they assumed no one was looking. Alfred felt like he was peeking in on an intimate moment so he closed and locked the door.

The evening changed rather quickly for Alfred. After Bruce went to bed, there was a loud knock at the door. He put down his newspaper and again grabbed that gun from the piano. His old mate, Reggie, stood in the pouring rain and Alfred had that sinking feeling once again. This could not be good.

* * *

Elizabeth ended up sleeping alone. Not because of some blow up that caused Harvey to storm out – the night was actually the opposite – but when Harvey got a call from Jim, they both knew he had to go. Sleeping alone in a King sized bed made Elizabeth feel empty. She still couldn't shake off that feeling of impending harm. Something was stirring.

The next evening at GCPD, Liz was in her office, filling out paperwork for a rookie officer who occupied the seat across from her desk. Harvey came bum-rushing in, eyes wild, cheeks red. She knew something was wrong when she heard he'd been  _running_.

"Alfred's been stabbed."

A dozen apologies fell from her lips to the rookie officer, statements of 'how unprofessional' and 'I'll call you back in when I'm here next'. Promises, promises. But all she had on her mind was hitching a ride with Alvarez who was the only free officer at the time. Everyone else was on the Red Hood thing. She rushed off, shushing Harvey away, and holding her breath until they arrived at those gates.

She told Alvarez she knew the code to get in; her speech thirty miles a minute, only to see the doors wide open as if someone broke in. The car wasn't even at a full stop when she unlocked the doors before heaving herself out. Heels stomping against the stone pathway, she pushed open the door, ignoring the calls from Alvarez, reminding her that she didn't know what she'd find in there. Perhaps a killer. Perhaps a hollow look in Bruce's eyes. Perhaps a dead friend.

And there she was, yet again, running head-first into danger.

Bruce was crying and sputtering, not looking up to see her standing over the two men – Alfred covered in blood, Bruce's hands reddened as he tried to apply pressure to the wound. Liz sat beside the boy, feeling the cool pool of blood beneath her thighs, destroying her dress.

"Elizabeth. He's…is he-?" his voice was hoarse, likely from screaming.

"No. No." she repeated it, reaching for Alfred's neck with her free hand, feeling – searching – for a pulse.

"I can't lose him," Bruce choked brokenly. "he's all I have!" he repeated this last part until footsteps entered the room behind them.

"Up! Up!" the EMTs were there then, pulling the two away so they could do their job. All Lizzy and Bruce could do was hold each other and cry, Lizzy clutching the young man's head and kissing the top of it, trying to slow her rapid breathing and stop the tears. Bruce didn't need another griever. Bruce needed someone to be strong for him so he could fall apart.

It was a blur. Liz went with Bruce in the ambulance, stayed by his side, held his hand for the hours it took in the waiting room. They washed the blood off together in a family restroom, both of them silently acknowledging that neither of them  _truly_ had a "family". Liz couldn't hide the empty feeling in her gut. It felt like it was her fault. She'd felt unease the previous night, but she let it pass without a word. She should have spoken, should have told Alfred at least.

When they were finally allowed to see him, Bruce was in the bathroom. She thanked a nurse and took off down the hall before Bruce could meet up. There Alfred was, hooked up to machines, hooked up to oxygen, eyes closed, color looking pasty. The footfalls rushing from down the hall were no doubt from Bruce and she wanted him to stop – stand still – wait. He didn't need to see his friend like this, didn't need to experience  _anything_ he'd been exposed to in the past year. So she stepped in the way of the door, wrapped him in her arms once again, and closed her eyes. Don't look. Don't  _look_!

Yet he did. Pulled away quickly and fell to his knees in the doorway, sobs wracking through his young throat.

Lizzy needed some air. Hospital air tasted stale. As she was walking out, Jim was rushing in.

"Where is he?"

"Room 197," she managed, watching him continue his sprint down the hall. A few more steps and she was outside. She hoisted herself on the cement block holding the hospital's front frame up. The cement was freezing on her legs and she looked down at the bloodstains on her dress and the caked blood under her nails. Bad luck followed her everywhere. She was like a plague – bringing filth and horror with her where she roamed. Palms pressed into her eyes, she breathed unsteadily.

She wanted to go home, but she had the overwhelming sense that her apartment wasn't  _home_  either. These months she'd been busy building a home out of a rented space and she wondered just when her time would be up. Like a black cloud passing through.

"Awful unsafe for you to be out here alone," came a familiar voice. She didn't acknowledge him but smelled the cigarette smoke. Harvey stood a few feet from her, putting away his light and replacing it with his flask, cigarette perched between his fingers. "We're just havin' a helluva day."

Before she realized what she was doing, she'd taken Harvey's cigarette and drew it to her lips with shaky fingers. Breathing deep made her cough, but she let the smoke slip out of her nostrils, feeling more at ease than she had since she got the news. The detective handed her his flask as well, eyebrows raised, fully aware of Liz's lack of smoking habits.

"Ever get the feeling you don't belong somewhere?" she raised her eyes to him finally, turning her head to view him.

"All the damn time."

She hummed, taking another drag then washing it down with the vodka Harvey had. He took the cig from her, tapping it twice before raising it to his lips. Liz drank again, looking away and feeling the burn fill her gut, the ache in her chest dulling.

Without blinking or making an effort to look at him again, she spoke just above a whisper, "I am so, incredibly pissed off right now, yanno? Like…I could find whoever did this and…" she stopped herself, memories flooding past her vision, reminding her that Gotham was another life, another chance. If she were to screw it up, she was too close to officers – she'd be thrown away for sure.

Harvey stared pointedly now, making her look at him. "Yeah? How's that? A shrink, of all people. I've seen everything." He was making a joke, but Liz didn't find humor at the moment. "Come on, Lizzy. You gotta let the pros handle this little tiff. Probably some robber after some of the Wayne's goodies. Alfie'll pull out just fine and you'll be back to awkward dinners with the fam." He tossed down the cig, stomping it out.

Only she knew better. Bruce had told her all of it in the waiting room. She could still hear his hushed tone, the urgency – like if he didn't tell someone he just might implode. This wasn't some robber like he was going to make it out to be – this was a  _friend_ , someone Alfie used to fight beside back in the day. They were soldiers. This man was dangerous, more powerful than anyone Elizabeth had taken on in this life or the last. Yet she still wanted to try.

" _Don't tell them I told you_ ," Bruce had said. "I _need to handle this_." And it was probably unprofessional of her to offer her help, to have that aggressive tone in her voice and that murderous look in her eye, but she didn't even try to hide it in front of the boy. They were both tongue-tied and terrified and Liz had promised to never be pushed around again. This was personal, as much as she was an outsider, she felt accepted in that home. When Bruce didn't reject her offer of assistance, she knew he felt she belonged too.

But just what was he planning? What had she agreed to? Who could she turn to, say things got rough? Harvey was on the good side of the law currently.

Before she realized, she'd finished off the contents of Harvey's flask and he was very vocal about her thirst.

"M'sorry."

" _Jesus,_ woman!"

"I'm going to offer to let Bruce stay with me for a few weeks. Until Alfred is better."

Harvey nodded. "Guess this is a bad time to tell you my time's up at my place and I haven't exactly had time to find a replacement, huh?" he scratched the back of his neck.

"I have another bedroom. Bruce can stay there. I'm sure he'd appreciate having an officer in the house right now, actually." She tried her best to give Harv a considerate, kind look to sway him to stay, but it just didn't come. Instead she looked tired.

"Alright. I'm up for that," he shrugged. "But just until I find another place." She nodded slowly. "Hey, you should get some rest. Haven't you got work tomorrow morning?"

A stiff nod as she hoisted herself off the cement. "I'll get Bruce. Do you mind taking us home?"

 _Home._ It felt foreign to Harvey's ears, especially knowing that he had a suitcase of the rest of his clothes in the backseat of his car and this ' _home'_ was going to be  _his_  place for a week at least.

The detective watched his girl with the blood stained dress walk into the hospital and come back out with a kid with swollen eyes who they were taking back to her  _home_.

When did this become 'normal' for him, he wondered.


	26. Chapter 26

Lizzy didn't sleep much, Harvey could tell by how strong she'd made the coffee. Not to mention the dark circles under her eyes that even makeup couldn't completely cover. He was worried, honestly, but she'd talk when she needed to. When Bruce came in the kitchen, he asked for a cup of coffee and though Lizzy wanted to stop him, his bloodshot eyes and reddened cheeks reminded her that he wasn't just a young boy anymore. He was wise beyond his years and his asking meant it probably wasn't the first time he'd tried the morning medicine.

"It's strong," Harvey warned.

"Good," was his reply so Liz poured him a cup and handed him the creamer. "I'd like to go back this morning and if one of you could drive me there, I'd be appreciative."

Liz nodded with a knowing look. "I can take you."

"-I pass the hospital on my way in, you don't. I'll take him," Harvey interjected. The sooner she got to work, the better. He remembered she'd told him that distractions help her cope.

"Thank you, detective," Bruce murmured before taking a long sip of the coffee. He blinked hard as he swallowed, but soon he was finishing the cup. "May I shower before we leave?"

Harvey looked over at Liz before nodding. "Sure, go for it. Towels are in the hall closet." He bit his tongue, shaking his head at how much he knew about Lizzy's home – how his belongings were in the spare bedroom's closet and he now had a specific side of the bed he slept on.

Liz tried turning on the radio while she made breakfast for Harvey, but she kept spacing out, staring at a wall or her hands. Harvey startled her just as the bagel was popping out of the toaster.

"Huh?"

"Said: your phone's been going off," he grabbed the food, taking the knife from her hands and smearing cream cheese on.

"Fuck," she muttered, her eyes locked on the screen.

"What?"

There was a small glance in his direction before she spoke again. "I have a new patient today. If it's that  _Jerome_ …"

"If it's that  _Jerome_ , you damn well tell them no. The kid's a psycho." He tossed the knife in the sink, biting into the bagel.

"My coworker doesn't know much, just that he has been asking for me – won't talk to anyone unless it's me." She looked directly into Harvey's eyes. "You didn't mention me around him, did you? How would he know me?"

Harvey shrugged. "Hell if I know."

Liz grabbed her purse, slipping her shoes on. "You mind locking up when you guys leave? I'm going in early."

Harvey sort of smiled at this, happy to see her focusing on something other than Alfred and Bruce. However, if this  _was_ Jerome, she needed to be careful. The charismatic fuck needed to be put in his place. There was no talking to him – no reasoning with him. He was a  _bad_ kid, plain and simple. Liz wouldn't get through to him.

"I'll lock up," he called, but she was already out the door.

Lizzy couldn't help but rush to work, enraged just by the idea that they would add  _another_ patient to her daily routine. She barely had enough time in the short day for those she already was assigned to. How could they add another? Clearly Cathy was next for another assignment – not her!

Her boss caught her on the way to her office. "Elizabeth, I need to speak with you. Judging by your expression, you may already know why."

"Yeah, we have some patient requesting to work with me," her tone was flat.

Her boss' expression was one of pure confusion. She sighed, shook her head. "It's like a damn game of telephone…no. Cathy was assigned to patient 3373, but she has been with him for hours – since he arrived at 3 this morning – and he's given her nothing. All he's told her is that he doesn't like shrinks."

"Well, that's too bad. Why am I getting another assignment? Cathy is here more hours and now has fewer patients than I do."

Her boss nodded. "I understand, but-"

"But nothing. Boss, I can't handle this many in the few hours I'm here. Either the rotations of my current patients need to change to only a few a day, or you need to send someone to another counselor. It's too much." Liz hated having to speak in this way to an employer, but if this kept up she knew she'd burn out – and quick. The rules came down from high up – Hugo Strange was a hushed name around the asylum, but she'd never spoken with the man.

Her boss breathed. "I understand. I will send one of your patients to Cathy now – like a trade-off. However, I'm only doing this  _once_. Mr. Strange will not be pleased with this…"

Liz knew she was getting stuck with the uncooperative patient because she was the newest staff member. Seniority has a funny way of dicking over newbies, but she'd heard Strange was a scary man who was not to be tested. The last thing she needed was another enemy – especially one in the form of an employer.

"Look, I don't want to start any problems, it's just been a lot of stress lately," Liz huffed, hanging her head then straightening up again. "A trade-off sounds alright for now. I'll see what I can do." That professional tone was back in her voice and, God, she hated it right now. All she wanted to do was scream and demand that they started treating her better or she'd  _walk_. Perhaps that was a threat for another day. She'd learned to shut up very quickly when certain people got testy.

"I only mention this because it should add to your understanding: when Cathy asked 3373 if he's had experience with shrinks, he nodded. Said he had a young woman years ago who was just starting out in the field. Said he felt comfortable with her, but she left when her internship was over. He mentioned you."

Of all the occurrences in the past few days, nothing –  _nothing_ – could have prepared Lizzy for that moment. She felt like her lungs were collapsing, the familiar flavor of iron covering her taste buds. The ringing in her ears crescendoed. She didn't hear the name, but she didn't have to.

Her boss told her that he was waiting in room 235. Elizabeth wanted to tell her the truth, wanted to request his transfer again, but she knew how this system worked – lowest on the totem pole was least likely to have her requests acquiesced. So she nodded, gathered her things from her office, and wandered toward room 235. She stood at the door, her head resting against the metal, tears threatening to fall. This could not be happening.

When she buzzed into the room, she was not at all surprised to meet eyes with Jack. He sat proud; back straight, handcuffed wrists gingerly resting on the metal table, pleased smirk making his eyes squinty. There was, however, a difference. Dark stitches were sewn into his cheek in an upward  _almost smile_.

"Well,  _hello_  there, beautiful."

When Harvey came home that night, he was Bruce-less and expected Lizzy to be pissed that he didn't force the kid to stay another night. He'd been in contact with the kid all day and he requested to stay at Alfred's side that night. Who was Harvey to argue? He didn't have the slightest clue of how to get kids to do what you want – especially kids that he really had no power over. Cuff him? Drag him here? Oh, yeah, that would be a freggin' sight. Liz was going to be furious once she greeted him.

However, the rooms were dark, the kitchen was empty, and he could hear the shower running down the hall. Maybe an evening alone might do them some good. A devious smirk played across his face while he removed his coat, hat, shoes, and gun strap. He made a point of avoiding glancing in the room where all his belongings lay comfortably in a new home. Too soon. It was all moving too quickly for him, but he shut his brain off and decided that this was just a new form of couch-surfing he was partaking in – not a long-term stay.

The door to the bathroom was always unlocked when she showered. He knew because she'd always mentioned he should feel free to bust in to take a leak if he so needed to – what with the whole one bathroom apartment thing. Not to mention the times just like these when he planned to strip and enter the shower – and  _her_. Tonight, however, was a whole different scene. The mirrors were steamed up, lights weren't dimmed, and he found her on the floor – fully clothed – leaned against the sink.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. What's goin' on?" he reached to turn off the shower. "You still a mess about Alfred? They said he's woken up."

Elizabeth tried to feign a smile, tried to lie and say that – yes – she  _was_ worried about Alfie and that had driven her to a state of panic. But she was a horrible liar. Great at secret-keeping, but straight-up lies were not an option.

"That's not it."

"Were you assigned to Jerome? What did he do?"

She shook her head. "At this point, I'd rather it be Jerome."

"Ah. Is it some asshole?" he ran a hand down her cheek.

"Something like that," in that moment, she decided she wasn't ready to tell him. She wasn't ready to spill all. "I'll worry about it tomorrow." And she kissed him then, distracting the both of them long enough for Harvey to raise her to her feet, strip the both of them, and join her in the shower.

Harvey threw his coat down on his desk, having just gotten back from a murder scene. His mind hadn't been in it today, instead he'd been focused on the anxiety attack Lizzy had that morning – the way her gasping sounded from inside the  _locked_  bathroom. Took less than a minute for him to break that lock and come barging in like some hero. He'd fix it in the evening, but he wouldn't be able to get her fear-stricken features out of his mind.

"Harvey, delivery for you," Ed swept his way over. "The papers you requested were sent from Ohio." He swiftly placed the large envelope in his hands. "Fascinating case, that Jack. Any good reason you're interested in this? It's closed."

"Mind yours, Ed," he snapped. The request was sent in a week prior. Harvey had been wracking his brain in attempts to remember what his damn name was so as soon as it hit him, he'd sent in the request for a copy of the file. Digging up dirt on your girlfriend's ex was probably frowned upon, in hindsight, but knowing was better than being left in the dark even if it meant a slap on the wrist.

"Yes, right," Ed was gone within seconds and Harvey took no time to pull the contents of the envelope out.

His eyes scanned quickly over the text.  _December 21. Domestic dispute between Jack Napier and Harleen Quinzel._

Harvey threw the papers down as he slammed himself in the chair. They'd sent him the wrong fucking papers. Where was the information on Elizabeth and his dispute? It  _was_ possible that this guy had a habit of hurting his significant others, so he kept reading.

_Ms. Quinzel reported a domestic dispute between herself and Mr. Napier; the instance leading up to Quinzel running to police headquarters as the suspect pursued her. Phones in her apartment were damaged during the dispute. The victim had cuts adorning her arms and a black eye. Officer Reynolds caught the suspect a few blocks away from headquarters._

Harvey scratched his beard and his eyes lost focus on the text. Elizabeth was very cryptic about the whole thing. She rarely talked about it, but Harvey just assumed it was because of the trauma. This couldn't be a coincidence. He'd seen too many files, too many cases, too many screwy individuals. Yes, most psychopaths had a pattern, but this was  _too_ similar to Elizabeth's story. He flipped the pages, skimming through descriptions of the scene and the apartment, the blood on the walls. And then he hit it – a photo of the victim's bruises.

There, in plain sight, was Elizabeth –  _blonde_ , but Elizabeth. The same cheekbones, same big eyes with the halo of amber he loved so much, the same lips he kissed that morning, but a swollen black eye.

He slammed the packet down, tore out the picture, shoved it in his breast pocket, and stormed toward the door.

"Harvey?" Jim was standing now, confusion flitting across his features. His partner was out the door before he could scream another word; his hat and coat left on his desk. Jim took it upon himself to snag the file and turn it over in his hands, reading the names scrawled across the top page.

Harvey sped his whole way to Arkham, knuckles white from gripping the steering wheel, ears red and jaw clenched. He didn't know what he was going to do when he got there. Bust into her office? Calmly take her outside and start screaming? When he swung into a parking spot, he was shaking, heart pounding. Did he  _want_ to confront her? Did he want to know the truth?

Elizabeth was just leaving for her lunch break, rifling through her purse for her keys when she bumped right into a hard body.

"Oh, I'm so sorry… – Harvey? What are you doing here?"

His eyes were wild and there was a slight reddening of his ears which meant he was pissed. He wasted no time to reach in his pocket and remove the photo.

"Care to explain this to me?" He handed it to her and watched her expression harden. "I feel like I'm missing something, Liz, or  _Harleen_." Hurt seeped into his chest. It'd been a while since he'd cared about someone like this. A mutual understanding. He'd told her things, damn it! Things no other soul knew. Not even Fish. "I thought I knew you, Elizabeth." She felt like she was being scolded. He never used her full name.  _Fake name_ , he kept reminding himself.

"Let's grab some lunch," she side-stepped him, but he easily wrapped his hand around her arm and pulled her back. "Not  _here,_ Harvey." His eyes challenged her, but he nodded stiffly and they went to her car. The ride was silent to the hot dog stand, but as soon as she parked on the side street, she looked back at him. "I legally changed my name."

"Name like Harleen, I would too." He was being unruly, but damn it, he felt betrayed. "Why didn't you just tell me that?"

"I tried to cut all ties from that part of my life, so I started with the name. It's helped. Until recently," she paused. "I had a rough time getting over the fact that I let him abuse me. I was raised to be so strong, but the little things didn't seem that bad. Well, that's how I reasoned with myself, anyway. So, yes, I lied to you and I'm sorry." She paused. "But you dug, didn't you?" She knew he did, and yes she was trying to place the blame on him but who can fault a girl for using her old defense mechanisms?

Harvey was silent a moment, reminding himself that yelling would get him nowhere. "I got curious," he shrugged. "Why didn't you just tell me? I had to find out like this?" he opened his mouth to continue, thought better of it, and shook his head.

"Say it," she knew that reaction.

The detective tried to silence himself – he really did – but it came out like word vomit. "What else aren't you telling me, Liz?" And then he was kicking himself for calling her that, thinking of  _Harleen_ and wondering just how she came to 'Elizabeth', what  _exactly_ had led up to her changing her name and running away?

She was tense then. "I want to tell you everything, Harvey."

"Then do it."

A small shake of the head. "No."

"No?" he said flatly.

"Not right now," she had work and she knew she needed to be back in fifteen minutes and this was going to take  _way_ longer than that. "Soon."

He nodded stiffly. "Right. And I'm just supposed to wait. For my girlfriend to tell me some crazy  _shit_ about her past life? That she's some murderess or con woman. Yanno what? No. I need answers. So spill." She knew it was serious when he turned down her offer to get food and talk it over.

"I don't know where you want me to start," she admitted.

"Where did you meet him?"

"College. He was older than me which was the first thing that struck me – I think he was twenty-three at the time. But he was a freshman with me and then he dropped out after fall semester," Harvey sat patiently waiting. Liz knew it was time for honesty. "We started dating a few months into my junior year."

"What'd he do after he dropped out?"

She used air-quotes, "'Worked.' It wasn't until after he moved in with me that I actually learned what he was up to." Harvey raised a brow at this. "He would con people out of money, really. Involved in some gangs, drug deals – nothin'  _serious_  – just weed."

"He kill anyone?" the question came out gruffer than he'd intended and for a moment he forget he wasn't at work – this  _wasn't_ a perp he was talking to – it was Liz.

She looked away, not speaking at first, wondering if she should really give all the gory details. Solemnly, she nodded. "The first…I was so naïve. He came home with blood on his shirt and he said he'd gotten in a fight – some guys mugged him outside of the convenience store. But he didn't have any wounds," she seemed deep in thought. "I think I  _wanted_ to believe him, so I did. The second time was different though. They were getting all these chemicals and storing them in my garage…and a giant plastic tub…so I stupidly asked and he grabbed me around the throat and told me if I said anything I'd be next."

The hairs on Harvey's arms were raised, chills creeping down his back. "Shit…"

"-I was in  _way_ over my head at that point, but…part of being a young counselor: you think you can save everyone." Harvey didn't want to hear any more; regretted asking her about any of it. He should have played along, should have shredded those documents and moved on. "You aren't going to turn me in, are you?" and suddenly Harvey felt like scum. Had she really gotten that impression from him? Did she really think she did something  _so_ wrong that he would risk all of this to do the right thing?

Maybe the right thing was to leave her there, walk to the precinct and ask Jim to take him to get his car later. Maybe the right thing was to get his stuff, stay in the locker room until he found a place – pretend like this never happened, like this woman had never entered his life and given him some sort of hope that there could be a happy ending after all of this.

But Harvey just didn't have it in him. Sure, he was a little petrified to find out more, but leaving wasn't an option. Because he was selfish. Because he didn't want to be alone.

The anger still panged inside of him, but for now they were on okay terms. He wasn't mad at her, not entirely anymore. He was frustrated with the situation, frustrated with the asshole she dated and the Hell he put her through. A part of him wanted to ask more, but knew that was enough for today. He didn't think he could stomach any more. They went and got a hot dog before her lunch break was completely up. "You know, you owe me now."

"Come again?"

"You have one bad thing over me in this relationship, you owe me."

Her eyes narrowed as she swallowed. "Yeah? Because I'm sure  _your_ past is squeaky clean and you've told me all."

Harvey frowned at that. "Well…"

"Exactly. So, no, I don't owe you anything," They finished their food and made their way back to the car. "I should also tell you, now that you know more, why I was having anxiety this morning." He waited for her to continue. "I just got assigned to a case, as you know. The paperwork went through this morning…" She paused. "I'm assigned to Jack as of 4 pm today."

That anger was back. Full-force. He b-lined for the sidewalk away from her car. Things just could not get worse. Her footsteps were right behind him, he could hear the clicking of her high heels. She reached out for his arm, but he pulled away.

"And you're just going to do it?" he was yelling now and people were staring as they passed and he probably looked like a fucking  _fool_ , but he felt like the ground was breaking beneath his feet.

"What else am I supposed to do?" she ran ahead of him, turned, stopped, put her hands on his chest. "Harvey, look at me." He didn't. " _Now_." He did. "I don't want to. Believe me, this is the last thing I want, but what else am I supposed to do?"

"Tell them who you are, what really happened."

"And risk losing my job? No," she shook her head. "Things were just getting so good…" her hands fiddled with his shirt, eyes staring into the pinstripes. She fixed his tie. "I'm sorry."

"If he touches you…" he trailed off, ran a hand down his face. "I'll kill him."

"It's all gonna be okay, Harv. One way or another." And she gave him a knowing look, a look that reminded Harvey of the first female criminal he'd locked up in his career. It scared him.

He wanted to pull her into him, wanted to hush her and lie that he wasn't upset, wasn't petrified. But he couldn't. All he did was nod and get in her car.

That just about summarized how the rest of Harvey's day went. She took him back to his car, he drove back to work, and got thrown right into another case. Jim was busy talking to Essen by the time he returned, but after some paperwork the boss called him into the office.

"Cap," he greeted.

"Jim tells me you up and left this afternoon. Care to tell me why?"

Harvey ran a hand through his hair and groaned. "Some personal business."

Essen leaned against her desk. "Miss Sorkin is a big girl, I'm sure whatever it was, she could take care of it." His mind wanted to correct her:  _Miss Quinzel._

"It's not that simple, Cap."

"This doesn't have anything to do with Jack Napier, does it, Harv?" When Jim spoke, Harvey realized he'd read the file on his desk. The anger that had built up over an eight hour period was bubbling right back up to the surface. How could he have been so stupid, leaving the file out like that? Harvey felt tired, he felt exhausted for the first time in a while. All he wanted was to drink himself into oblivion.

He was stuck between a rock and a hard place. Maybe he didn't need another write up, and yeah, maybe he shouldn't have stormed off and let his emotions get this best of him, but he needed to squash this issue as quickly as he could. The lie came quicker than he'd expected it to. "Lizzy is assigned to his case. The punk just got moved to Arkham. I should never have dug into it, but I did. And now I'm paranoid. I wanted to make sure she knew what he'd done to get him in jail and she was working with him for the first time today." Okay, so half a lie.

"And a phone call couldn't suffice?" Essen crossed her arms.

"Look, stupid mistake. Won't happen again."

"Good. Now, both of you: out!" Essen scolded. Harvey thanked his lucky stars that he didn't leave the picture in the file. He'd torn that thing up as soon as he got back to his desk after lunch. This was going to be a well-kept secret if he had anything to say about it. Harleen was dead and that's how she was going to stay. Lizzy had her reasons and Harvey could respect it. Felt a little jaded that she hadn't told him, but he could respect it.

When the shift was over, Harvey drove home slowly. For some reason, he considered grabbing a drink at the bar, but he'd fix himself something when he got home instead. After taking ten extra minutes, he parked and shuffled his way to the apartment.

"Lizzy?" he called, hearing his voice echo through the hall. He closed the door, tossed his keys on the counter. "Baby?" her shoes weren't by the door, nor was her purse. She wasn't home yet.

He figured he should shower before she got home, and then he fixed up some dinner – nothing special, just what he could throw together, what she'd taught him. Mac n cheese, potato skins, and a few shake n bake chickens. In the time it took him, she still wasn't back. He'd gone through three beers, ate his portion of the meal, and was dozing on the couch, fourth beer in hand, when the door creaked open. It was a quarter past nine.

His eyes shot open. "Lizzy? Where the Hell have you been?" he set down his beer and stood as she took her shoes off. "I made dinner, but it's cold by now. Hey-" she looked up at him as he drew closer, but tried to hide her face. There was a tiny bruise on her jaw, just below her mouth; the size of someone's knuckle. "What happened?" his voice was serious, tight, he felt like if he breathed, he'd erupt in a volcano of rage.

"Jack got wild today. They restrained him, but, well, he managed a slight connection with my jaw." She waved her hand. "No big deal. Anyway, I went to the hospital to visit Alfred and-"

Harvey bit at the insides of his cheeks. "He's hitting you. Again."

"It's okay," she assured him. "I'm the one in power finally. I'm the one who can do something about it." She seemed all too confident about this. Too calm and collected.

Harvey went to put her food in the microwave without another word. His hands gripped tightly at the counter, knuckles whitening. And then Lizzy's arms were around his middle, her forehead pressed gingerly against his back. He let it go. The anger left his pores. His hands fell into hers and he turned around, kissed her forehead, then her lips.

"Be careful." What else could he say? That he wanted to go a few rounds with this guy? That he'd never met the bastard but he already felt like he needed a death sentence? This guy didn't deserve help. He deserved to rot.

"I always am." Her dinner was ready so she pushed past him to remove the plate from the microwave. She sat and ate, seemingly pleased with the meal. Harvey couldn't sit. His arms were crossed over his chest, fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt. She spoke of how much she enjoyed the meal, thanked him, smiled…but it was only when she stood that Harvey realized he'd been glaring – right at that mark from where that putz's knuckle connected.

"Oh, yeah, no problem."

Lizzy stood before him now, brown eyes staring up at him. Her cold fingers stroked his cheek, other hand pulling him towards her and into a delicate kiss.

"I'm fine, Harv."

"Mmmmhm."

But he'd seen the look before; it was distant, but there. She was afraid to sleep. The nightmares had been almost nonexistent for weeks now.

"I've got nothin' to worry about with my big Bullock here to protect me."

"I think you should get a gun." Harvey didn't miss a beat. Elizabeth huffed, turning away and muttering something along the lines of  _'here we go again'._ He followed her to the hall as she grabbed a towel for her shower. "Look, I know you're against it, but at this point, what happens if he escapes or something crazy? I can't be around you on a constant."

She slipped off her dress and bra, which, normally, Harvey would have ogled over, but now was a different story. "How many times have we been over this? I don't want to worry about someone easily stealing it from my grasp and turning it on me. I'd be better off using my hands or…or a hammer or somethin'." She slapped her hands against her thighs in frustration. At this, Harvey leaned against the doorframe of the bathroom and raised an eyebrow at her. "Fine. Leave one for me."

"You serious?" he straightened. "I could teach ya."

"Please, Bullock." Her tone was all too authoritative for someone standing in just a pair of panties. "Don't think I'm incapable; I  _know_ how to shoot, remember: Wayne Manor? The people after Selina?"

He glared. "Yeah, well, you should get some extra lessons."

She rolled her eyes, turned, slid the panties off, and stepped into the shower. As the curtain closed and water began running, Harvey heard her say, "Dad was overprotective – he made me take lessons for  _that_ too."

Harvey wasted no time sifting around, looking for extra bullets for his .45. He left it – unloaded – on the kitchen table and poured himself some scotch. Why was he thinking about her dad's reason for being overprotective? It was probably just some typical dad thing, nothing too concerning. Or did he ever  _meet_ Jack? Some gut instinct told him that she wasn't exaggerating when she mentioned he was the first decent guy she'd dated – and Harvey was only  _sorta_ decent; not the purest of them all by any means. He treated ladies like ladies because that's what his mother taught him. Chivalry was notdead, if he had something to say about it.

He did  _not_ , however, behave like a gentleman when Lizzy got out of that shower and led him to the bedroom.


	27. Chapter 27

The past was the past. That was what Harvey decided on his way to work the next morning. He'd woken up in Lizzy's bed, staring at the beauty drenched in the day's first rays of sunlight. She'd seemed so harmless when they first met – little rough around the edges, perhaps – but he never imagined she could pull something like  _this._ Lying about her name meant she was lying about who she was, which meant there was a whole Hell of a lot of  _shit_ that she wasn't planning on telling Harvey. Or anyone from Gotham, for that matter. But now with Jack Napier being her patient, she seemed tense – calculated. Even her sleep didn't seem as peaceful as before.

But, yeah, the past was the past and that was where it was going to stay. For now. Until something else got uncovered. And Harvey could handle that. He thought…

Still, he  _really_  considered leaving – played with the idea of sleeping in his car or taking Jim up on the offer of staying with him for a couple weeks. He'd even gone to the spare room to open the closet and stare at his belongings strewn about on the floor. But he couldn't bring himself to pick up and leave.

"Plannin' on goin' somewhere, sugar?" at her voice, Harvey startled. She was leaned against the doorway, standing in just a t-shirt.

"Course not," he assured her, approaching her slowly to rub his hands up and down the length of her arms. "Just…grabbing a coat." He stammered, turning to reach for one of his leathers.

She raised a brow at him, but said nothing and went to go start the coffee.

But, yes: past in the past and all that. However, the more he was finding out about her, the more unease Harvey felt. Yet he couldn't turn away.

He needed a good shower to let the scalding water run over his skin and rid his fears. That didn't go as planned either. His phone was going off and if it was Jim he swore he was going to put laxatives in his coffee. But it wasn't Jim. He'd reached out of the shower curtain to poke his arm out, grab the ringing phone, and put it up to his ear.

Harvey almost retched in the shower after that call. The commissioner requested him in an hour. He stood under the showerhead with his eyes closed tight. This couldn't be good.

No coffee that morning. Liz watched him exit the bathroom fully dressed, already finishing off the contents of his flask. As she poured herself some coffee, he refilled the metal with bourbon.

"Commissioner needs me to pull my evidence against Flass. Or I'm fired," he admitted, not meeting her eyes. "Probably going to prison."

Lizzy choked on her coffee but Harvey didn't make a move toward her. "I thought you just got rid of Flass. I thought this was over."

"Yeah, well it isn't. And Jim as well as Cap are gonna be pissed at me for doing what I have to do. I've gotta pull my evidence."

"What does the Commissioner know about you, Harv?" she knew she couldn't be judgmental about whatever he was going to say. It was likely nothing in comparison to what Jack had done. What she had done.

Harvey was silent for minutes and Liz let him stir. She sat at the table, set her mug down, sipped it a few times, breathed evenly, told herself that this was not a repeat of history – he was nothing like Jack.

He finally spoke, "I was told to…" another pause. "God, does this really have to happen  _now!?_ " Of all the shit luck in all the world. Of course this would happen to him now. With Liz –  _Harleen_  – letting in on her past. "Damn it…I was given orders to kill some thug, some snot-nosed punk, just like Jim did. But I did it. I…" pinching the bridge of his nose, he sighed. "I've been told to kill people. And I do it."

Liz sat silent, nodding sternly when Harvey looked at her. "Alright."

" _Alright? Alright!?_ Seriously? This is so  _fucked!_  I mean  _you_ sitting here nodding at me telling you that I've killed. You're okay with that?"

"No. I'm not okay with that, but you do what you have to do. To survive."

Harvey was suddenly getting the inkling that  _she_ had done things – bad things –  _to survive_.

"I can't do this right now. I-I gotta go." He kissed her haphazardly then made his way out the door.

Liz just blinked, staring at the space Harvey had occupied and sipping her coffee. Unfazed.

Walking in to Arkham that morning, Lizzy tried to have a different view. Harvey knew now. They were both so damaged. She no longer feared Jack escaping and spilling the beans about everything. That was the big one. Yet she felt changed. A desperate side of her wished she could keep everything secret. This was her new start – the start to a good life, a better life, a life away from the sins of her past. But these things always have a way of catching up with you, don't they?

Arkham had been different lately. The patients had been confessing some of their deepest to her, murders were happening left and right, and patients were acting against their therapists. Within two hours of each other Liz had been head-butted by one patient, spit on by another, and groped by a third. And to top it all off, Hugo Strange ordered staff into a small room to talk to them about procedures and being where they're supposed to be at all times.

And she was starting to lose her patience.

Then she got a phone call from Bruce, asking her to give him a ride. So she went, telling her supervisor that she wasn't feeling well, making up some shitty excuse just to go help the boy. Bruce and Selina were waiting outside of Wayne Manor, looking shifty. They got in her car, but she refused to pull out until they told her where was going on and if Alfred was aware of whatever they were up to.

"You said you would help me find whoever did this," Bruce stated brusquely. "Are you still willing?"

Liz could see the look of danger and fury in Bruce's eyes. She knew that look – knew it well. And she told him 'yes'. Because she made a promise.

So she pulled out of the extended driveway of the manor and took off down the road, Selina giving directions as they went. After that, Bruce started rambling off information about Reggie, an old friend of Alfred's; a man who stayed in the manor for a night, the man who stabbed him. Bruce was convinced that he was searching for information. Some of his files were gone and Bruce believed he was hired by Wayne Enterprises to spy on them so they were going to find him.

"And you think he's just going to be gentle with you when we find him? That he's going to just hand over the information and not get violent?" Liz was astonished at the boy's naivety.

"That's what I'm here for," Selina spoke.

At a red light, Liz reached over into the glove box and pulled out a dagger she kept in there. Bruce's eyes widened.

"Never can be too safe in Gotham," she said, sliding the knife into her boot.

She was just exiting the car when her phone went off. Both sets of eyes stared at her.

"It's Harvey," she informed them and Selina gave her a look. "I didn't tell him anything," she assured them. Turning to answer the phone, she breathed. "What's goin' on?"

"Look. Quick: I'm sorry about everything. Jim told me how much of an asshole I am for keeping you in the dark. I'm done with that. Ask away, I-I'll tell you…" she could hear the nerves in his voice.

The knife in her boot suddenly felt  _really_ heavy. "Uh…not a good time, bubba. We can talk at home." She said  _'home'_ and flinched, knowing just how much the man hated when she called it that. "I'm at work."

Harvey paused. "Oh. Okay, right, yeah…good. But, let me just…" he paused and she pictured him running a hand down his beard. "The thing Loeb's got on me? Years ago, my Sergeant put a gun in my hand, another to my head, and told me to make a choice. I decided to keep breathing."

Liz bit her lower lip. "I'm glad you did."

"Yeah, thanks…"

Silence on the line, both kids staring at her. "I gotta get back now."

"Right. Sorry," he paused, feeling like an idiot. "Bye."

Lizzy slipped her phone into her back pocket, staring silently at the kids before crossing the street with them.

"So where did Alfred say Reggie would be staying?"

"A shooting gallery," Selina answered simply.

Liz stopped all movement, grabbing the kids each by the sleeve of their coats. "Hold on. No. No  _way_."

"We need to find him. I have questions," Bruce protested. "Please. You said you'd help."

And again, Liz followed through because that promise still rang true. The kids pulled ahead of her, walking and joking about something like kids often do. There was a horrible feeling overcoming her, but she kept an eye out for both of the kids. She knew what she was capable of, say something went down, but she didn't want to go back there.

They came to a building entrance and started ascending the stairs, but Liz gave them one look and crossed their path.

"You want to find him, I get that – but you play by my rules, kids. Got it?" at Liz's tone Bruce straightened with a wide-eyed gaze. It sunk in that the boy had never heard her speak this way to him, but fear was a funny thing. "I want you safe," she said softer. "Stay with me."

And she had to hand it to them – they did – so close behind her she could feel their body heat. The room was dark and damp; people screaming in the corner, small fires burning in trashcans, people sleeping under garbage bags. Bruce made a hushed noise and they stopped walking.

"That's him," he whispered, pointing to a heap of a man lying on the floor.

They approached him slowly and Liz felt the anger rising in her chest. She pictured Alfred trying to get out of the hospital bed and collapsing over in pain. Apparently the man even tried going to find Reggie himself that morning, but his wound started bleeding again and Bruce forced him to take a rest. The drunken scumbag lying on the cement floor was the bastard who stabbed her friend – who almost  _killed_ her friend – and he was unaware of the danger standing just above him.

Selina kicked him, woke him up,  _scared him_.

"Who are they?" he asked Bruce.

The boy dismissed the question. "Who sent you to my house?"

"Who sent me? Just go home, Bruce, or you'll be in more trouble than you are already."

Liz didn't let that anger settle. "Exactly what kind of trouble are you saying he's in?" As the question reverberated off the walls it distracted Reggie long enough for Selina to grab his 'medicine'.

"My friend just asked you a question," Selina raised her voice.

"Give me that."

"Or you'll  _what_?" Selina asked. Liz stepped in between the two of them, staring Reggie right in the eye. Selina walked to the window with his bag of goodies.

"Answer Bruce.  _Now!_ " Lizzy seethed.

He paused, stared at her a moment. "I didn't mean any harm. I was just supposed to take some documents. But Alfie walked in…is he alright?"

"You stabbed him, what do you care?" Bruce retorted. The drunkard claimed he cared and asked again if Alfred was okay. "Who sent you?" No answer. "Throw them out!" Bruce called to Selina. Reggie protested some more.

"You shouldn't be doing this, Bruce," Reggie warned. "Only Alfie can deal with these people." Liz's eyes narrowed.

"What people?" Liz asked in unison with Bruce. They waited for an answer and got none. "Drop it," she told Selina, knowing she would wait. And she did.

"There's a woman named Mathis and a guy called Bunderslaw. Sid Bunderslaw, he's the guy I dealt with. But you've got to let Alfie take care of this. Not you, Bruce, it's not business for a child." Bruce asked what Bunderslaw wanted. "Just to know what you knew, to see how far your investigation had gone. But he was scared and that's why he sent me. Now, can I have my bag back, please?"

"Give it back to him," Bruce instructed to Selina. Only she didn't. As Reggie went to meet her at the window, Selina dropped the bag. She looked proud, bold. "You. You're a sick man, Mr. Payne. You need help."

"Don't you patronize me. I may have vices, yeah, but I'm a professional. You want me to tell Bunderslaw that you're onto him? Because he'll come after you and there's nothing that you can do to stop him." Liz stepped forward again, pulling the knife out of her boot and gripping it tightly, unblinking at the man. "You're just silly little children: I'm gonna tell on you."

By now he was inches from Bruce and Liz took the opportunity to squeeze between the both of them, pressing the tip of the knife against his belly.

"Back off, buddy. I don't know who you think you are, but one more step and I swear to  _God_ you're done." She spoke between her teeth.

The man took her in a moment, eyes drifting between hers. His hands rose up as he took a step back then turned to the window. Liz felt Bruce move beside her, gazing up at her wildly before turning his attention back to Reggie as the man began reaching out the window toward the bag. Bruce fought with the idea of pushing him, his own hands rising toward his turned back. The woman lowered her knife, wide-eyed. It happened so fast: Selina screaming at Reggie before pushing him. The man fell with a loud crash and the sound of bones snapping was heard.

Selina rushed off as Bruce and Liz stood shell-shocked. Liz knew he was dead, but she had to see it with her own eyes. The two of them gazed over the ledge and to the heap of a man once again. Blood pooled out from his head, body contorted.

Everything was suddenly hitting her like a ton of bricks. "We've gotta go," she whispered, grabbing Bruce by the arm and ignoring his pleading to wait for Selina to come back.

She sped away after tossing the knife back in her glovebox. Running red lights, searching for Selina. They stayed silent the whole drive, afraid to speak about what happened. But Liz was shaking from familiarity. There was a metal taste in her mouth. When they finally found Selina, Bruce ran from the car before she even came to a complete stop.

"Did you go back?" Bruce asked, out of breath.

"Yeah. Cops are there," she answered.

Liz almost vomited as she walked to where the kids were yelling. Bruce was crying, asking why she did it; they had gotten the information they wanted. But Selina had a point; he was going to report right back to Bunderslaw.

"Guys," she pushed both of them apart for a moment. "We will  _not_ talk about this so loudly, so help me…" she gritted her teeth and shivered in the moonlight.

Bruce suggested they continued their investigation, but Selina insisted on backing out. They were in over their heads. Yet Bruce still had a plan; a safe in Bunderslaw's office – he wanted to break in. This was too much. They were just kids who had both seen too much death already in their young lives.

"Figure out how to get me close and I'll steal the key," Selina said simply.

"I need to be the voice of reason, here, guys…this needs to end. Now. We tell Alfie. We can trust him. Hell, Jim and Harvey would-"

"You tell  _no one_." Selina warned, stepping closer to the slightly taller woman. At her tone, Liz grew angry but Bruce made it all dissipate.

Bruce stepped closer, eyes dark. "Promise me you won't tell anyone."

And again, Liz fought with the right thing and the thing she actually did. "I promise."

After that, she took Bruce home; refused to come in the manor in fear of seeing Alfred and spilling all. She sat through a green light on her way home, got honked at and cussed out. When she pulled in at her apartment's lot, she rested her forehead against the steering wheel and let herself have an anxiety attack.

Harvey groaned when he entered the empty apartment. That little red car of Liz's wasn't in her usual spot so he knew she wasn't home yet. But it didn't make sense – she had work that morning and there was no way she was still there.

Truth be told, he couldn't remain calm. Jim  _had_ to push. This case he reopened – this  _serial killer_ he wanted to catch – The Ogre; put them all in danger. Lee, Jim, Harvey, Lizzy. This guy would not  _stop_.

He'd called her phone six damn times and it went to voicemail each time. Damn it, what was the point in even buying the thing for her? So he paced the floor for twenty minutes, considered calling Arkham to ask what her hours were because for the life of him he couldn't find where she had her schedules.

When the door unlocked, the man thought he would explode in a rage. Upon seeing her, he knew something was wrong. Only she wasn't talking.

"Was it something with Jack?" he followed her into the bathroom where she splashed water on her face and stared in the mirror. "Lizzy, please, somethin's goin' on here."

"It wasn't Jack. I'm just…tired."

"Bullshit," Harvey raised his voice, slamming his hands on the sink. "God damn it, kid." She snapped her head in his direction. "I've only got so much patience right now, okay? There's a damn serial killer on the loose and you're a walkin' target."

"There's a serial killer?" she grabbed a towel to dab the water off her face, but a deeply disgusting feeling still remained on her skin.

He didn't answer at first, just kissed his girl harshly, let his hands travel down her hips, grabbed her ass, and pressed her against the wall. The surprised noises she made, the moans, drove him crazy. "Dude's a psychopath. Leaves a calling card and everything…" he swiftly stripped her of her shirt and bra. "Jim's diving into this one, despite my protests." His fingers unclasped her pants and he got down on his knees to help her remove her boots, pants, socks, panties. She stood naked and shivering before him.

This was how Harvey handled the emotions coursing through him; the fear and frustration, the unease in knowing that she could have been gone. The guilt over the thoughts of leaving he had this morning. He didn't want to sit around and tell her how worried he was, didn't want to talk at all. He'd done enough of that. Instead, he carried her to the bedroom and bent her over the edge of the bed.

Elizabeth let Harvey take her, let her mind silence for the time he was between her thighs.

An evening of sex wasn't enough to get her mind off what happened the night before, though. She had a hard time looking at herself in the mirror when morning came.

"Call off work. You're staying at the precinct," Harvey didn't even say good morning. Clad in boxers, he stood blocking her from leaving the bathroom where she was putting her makeup on.

"Now you know I can't do that."

"Yes, you can and yes you will," he approached, moving her hair to one shoulder and kissing the exposed skin on her neck. "Better safe, as they say."

"I'm not running scared from this serial killer of yours, Harvey," she said flatly. "Not my style."

He bit her neck, making her swat at his arm. "Right. Well, I'm not coming to get your frightened self, say something goes down." He stripped himself of the boxers and stepped into the shower.

"That's a lie, detective, and you know it." Liz put her mascara on.

She heard Harvey sigh, "You're right, you damn stubborn woman. Just…be careful, alright? For fuck's sake."

"I'll be at Arkham, what's the worst that could happen?"

Harvey could think of so many things…


	28. Chapter 28

Elizabeth was just leaving her shift at Arkham when her cell phone rang for the third time in the hour. She feared it would be Alfred again. The man left a voicemail already, asking for her to call him when she got a chance; something about the Wayne Enterprise Charity Ball that evening; that Bruce was taking Selina and how curious Alfred was at Liz's take on that friendship. But she couldn't bring herself to return the call. What if she told Alfred what they did? What if she let it slip and Alfred went berserk? Bruce would never trust her again.

Thankfully, the incoming call was not Alfred this time, so she answered. As soon as the word 'hello' slipped from her lips, she realized how much of a mistake answering an unknown number was. What with this Ogre character, she should have been more alert.

"Liz?" only the voice on the other line was softer, familiar.

"Butch?"

Silence for a few moments. Liz got into her car, locked it, and glanced around the parking lot before settling back against the seat.

"It's me. I…uh…you said…that," the man sighed on the other line. "I could really use somebody right now." His voice sounded raw and Liz's heart ached for him.

"Sure, yeah. Anything. What do you need?" she was all too eager to help him. After dealing with the silence and glares of Jack's session that afternoon, Liz just wanted to feel like she was in control again – like she was capable of helping  _someone_. Jack had been almost too calculated – like he was plotting something. Arkham was full of violence and terror lately so she wasn't super surprised. Just that morning, one of the patients cut off three fingers and shoved them down another patient's throat because they'd insulted their mother. There were some people who were beyond help.

Butch gave her an address and she scribbled it on her hand, having nothing else to write on. As she drove, she put the phone to her ear once again, calling Harvey.

"Look, I know this really isn't the time and I'm sorry, but I just got a phone call from Butch and he's…"

"-Butch? So he's alive." Harvey sounded surprised.

"Yes, Harvey. He needs help."

"Like, my kinda help or your kinda help?" As he spoke, she could hear Jim in the background and suspected she'd interrupted their case.

"My kind. I'll text you the address in case I'm not home in a few hours." She turned down the street.

"Yeah, fine. Doubt I'll be home by then, if I'm honest. I'll try. Be good."

When she parked in front of the building Butch mentioned, she sent Harvey the address as promised, then got out of the car. He'd told her to go to room 36, but the room numbers were thrown all about and didn't make any sense. By the time she found it, she was frustrated, but she knocked.

Butch opened the door, taking up a majority of the doorway with his big build. He stood in his button down shirt, tie removed, cuffs rolled up, one hand clasping a glass of scotch, bloodshot eyes.

"Are you alright?" Liz didn't wait for any niceties, she shoved herself between the doorframe and the man, squeezing through and into his apartment. She halted upon seeing the place. There wasn't anything lying around, there was a neat bookshelf in the corner of the room, the place was furnished to the 'T'. "You live here?"

"Yeah. Kind of a neat freak. Weirds people out." She heard him close and lock the door behind her and her mind raced.  _He's only watching both of your backs, not trying to trap you in here, Liz. Cool it_ , she scolded herself. "Look, thanks for coming."

By now the sky was dark, moonlight flitting between the curtains beside the large couch in the living room. She placed her purse on the table, ran a hand through her hair, and breathed.

"Are you safe?" she found herself asking first.

Butch paused and she watched his jaw clench and unclench five times before he said, "Let me get you something to drink." She followed him in the kitchen partially because she wanted to look at how nice that room was, and partially because she wanted to be aware if he was going to come at her with a knife. "You drink white wine, if I recall correctly." He pulled a bottle from the fridge, setting a glass on the granite countertop. "I've got some pizza I ordered if you're hungry."

"Thank you," she spoke when he handed her the wine then gestured to the table for them to sit. He opened the box of pizza, meeting eyes with her for a moment before shyly looking away.

"Did I take you from work?"

"I was just leaving," she did grab a piece and instantly took a bite of it, realizing how hungry she truly was. "Butch, I'm worried about you."

He nodded solemnly, downing the rest of the scotch before getting up and walking back to the counter. She watched him go, watched his hands working to undo the cap of the bottle and pour more of the amber liquid into his glass. He was shaky. Typically, she knew how to wait someone out; a trick they taught in her graduate program, but now was much harder. When it was someone you know personally, these things don't just fall into place through the silence. She needed answers. She needed to know why there was a scar in the shape of a 'V' on his forehead.

He didn't sit back down, not for a while. Instead he leaned against the counter holding his scotch, placing it back down, picking it up, fidgeting. Liz grabbed another slice of pizza and stared at the tablecloth.

"After Fish, I just…" he sighed. "There's this guy: Victor Zsasz. He came after us. Lookin' for a fight. Guy's crazy…but Fish and I tried to get away. I got her out, but now…" his voice broke at the end of the phrase and Liz looked up, stunned. The man was rubbing the spot on his head, looking pained. "I don't know what he did. For a while, I thought Fish was the bad guy; she was the enemy, and I was supposed to serve Penguin. But I keep getting these flashes…these… _images_ in my head and I…" he sighed. "I don't know what way's up anymore."

Her phone started ringing and she glanced to see who it was. Alfred again.

"Do you need to take that?"

She decided now was a better time than ever. What with Butch there, she knew she would be able to keep Bruce's secret under wraps. "Alfie, I'm so sorry I didn't call."

"Quite alright, Liz. I just…can't help feeling ridiculous right now." Alfred paused but Liz didn't interrupt him. "Master B is…courting young Selina and I feel like a damn fool for worrying my arse off."

Liz laughed at this. "They're just being kids. They'll be fine. Bit of an infatuation, I'm sure. Nothing too concerning. Just keep the windows locked so that little minx can't sneak in during the night, huh?" It was a joke, but she soon realized that Alfred took it seriously. "Oh, Alfie, you're hopeless."

The butler laughed. "Well, best get some shut eye soon; tomorrow I have to identify the body of an old friend." At that, Liz felt her heart stutter. "Bloody bastard toppled out a building."

"I'm terribly sorry for your loss," Liz managed.

Butch sat staring, mouth a hard line, eyebrows furrowed. Liz started wondering just what this looked like to him so she ended the conversation and hung up the phone.

"Everything alright?" That simple sentence almost made her lose it. She almost confessed it all to the large man. Surely he'd been in the situation a time or two before. Hiding evidence was his thing, but the evidence was already removed and ready for Alfred to ID apparently.

She breathed heavily, downing the rest of her wine. "Not really." But she didn't tell him that – she couldn't. "But we're here to talk about you, not me. So," he poured her another glass of wine and took a seat beside her. "What all did he do to you?"

Butch visibly cringed, tightening his fist around his glass. Liz scooted forward, using both of her hands to envelop one of his. He stilled then, glancing up at her and nodding once.

"I was in and out of consciousness, but I remember most of it." He then went into a ten minute discussion of the horrors that Victor put him through. Nightmares of drills and saws, knives, mental torture. He'd been twisted into someone he didn't know anymore. And then he was forced to work under Penguin's reign or risk another round with Victor.

Liz sat silently for moments after his tale ended, their hands still pressed together, neither of them trying to make a move. "I'm worried for you."

"An' I'm worried about you. What happened that had ya so freaked out the other night?"

Liz debated if she should tell him, weighed the decision out and really struggled with letting her guard down. She did. Guilt would have plagued her if she told him more than Harvey knew, so she didn't speak of anything more although she had the urge to. The secrets were keeping her up some nights and the nightmares were back, but she was managing.

Butch was very vocal about wanting to protect her. He assured her that whenever she needed his services, he'd be at her doorstep. And she believed him, but she also feared that Oswald would get ahold of the information she just shared and that frightened her. Oswald and Jack working together would make a scarier place of Gotham.

"I've been feeling different lately," she admitted, to which Butch cocked his head. "Like…stronger. Fiercer. You know? There's just this…weight…lifted off me. Secrets are such a burden. But now?" she laughed. "I feel almost like I want to waltz into Oswald's and let him teach me the ropes of this city. I like Arkham because there's a little danger in every day."

Butch stilled, shaking his head. "Oh, no, toots. No. Bad idea." He paused. "What would Bullock think?" She almost choked on her drink. "Yeah, I know all about that. Dude's pretty capable of grabbin' the good ones, surprisingly. Does he like to bend ya over?" Butch chuckled at her expression. "Hey, it's alright. I could tell you were into him by the way you were makin' eyes at him that night."

"Harv and I quite enjoy each other's company, thank you." She smiled despite herself.

Butch nodded. "So he knows some wondrous tricks in the sack, huh?"

" _Butch_!"

"Kidding. I'm  _kidding_." He noticed she finished her wine so he lifted the bottle to pour her more, but she placed her hand over the glass. "Aw, c'mon, party just started. Told ya before: you could use a friend in Gotham. Ain't this what friends do?"

Smiling once again, she nodded. One more glass and she wouldn't be able to drive home. Bullock would be knocking down Butch's door before long. "I'll have to spare you the juicy details, B-man," she laughed again. "I won't hold back next time, if you're up for it."

"Oh, nothin' I ain't heard before, I'm sure."

She thanked Butch for the food and the booze and took her leave shortly after, promising she'd return again soon. Her drive home was more lighthearted than her drive there and she realized how long it'd been since she sat with a friend and laughed. Tonight was good for her, she decided. Butch was good for her. She was very loyal with friends.

Climbing the stairs to her apartment she noticed a man a few steps ahead of her, dressed very nicely in an Italian suit. She bit her lower lip, wondering where this man was headed and whose lucky arms he would fall into that night.

"Harvey?" the realization came out of her mouth before it clicked in her mind. The man stumbled slightly, hand reaching up to grasp at his chest as he breathed laboriously.

"Jesus, kid, you're gonna give me a heart attack." When she made it up the flight of stairs she just ogled at him, mouth agape, eyes taking in every part of him. "You like?" he did a little spin for her then took one step nearer.

In seconds she had his back to the nearest wall and was kissing him fervently. Her hands pawed at the material and he struggled to breathe when she unzipped his fly and started getting down on her knees.

" _Jesus_ , woman," he huffed, glancing around before letting her hands trace over his thighs. "I could use a  _bed_ right now. Come  _on_."

Although she gave him a look, she did rise to her feet. One hand dug for her key while the other grabbed his wrist and she pulled him along with her. When she got the door unlocked she hurried him inside.

"Harvey, you look damn good," she acknowledged, running her hands down the jacket, closing the door with her elbow. She shifted her fingers to land on the dress shirt he wore underneath and her hands untucked the material from his pants. Next, she worked on undoing the tie then tossing it carelessly to the ground. The suit probably cost a fortune and she wondered where he got it, but she was mostly focused on getting it off of him.

The detective started kissing her, assisting in getting himself undressed. "Bedroom. Clothes off.  _Now_."

Liz grinned, "Yessir." He followed her to the room, spanking her ass as she slid off her shirt and bra. They left a trail of clothes in their wake and met again at the bed.

He took no time in inserting a finger into her pussy. She was already so wet for him and he wondered if it was just the suit. His other hand stroked himself and he caught Liz trying to angle herself enough to watch him.

She let out the most breathtaking moan when he bent her over the edge of the bed and slid inside of her. Gripping at her hips and pounding into her gave Harvey a sense of power he felt he lost at work that day, what with their tracking down the Ogre. But he was here now and here was so  _good_.

When she scampered away from him Harvey grew slightly agitated, but the look she was giving him was purely sinful so he took the bait and climbed on the bed with her. She easily knocked him down beside her and quickly straddled him with those perfect thighs of hers. The detective was in heaven when she sat herself down on him. It wasn't often that he let the lady dominate, but he loved to watch her perky breasts and her tone body move with every thrust; loved gripping at her hips and making her moan. How had he caught such a young fine thing, he wondered.

Liz loved riding him. Being on top meant she got to look at him – the dusting of hair that covered his torso, his belly, the chubby arms, faded tattoos, the beard. And his hands were always all over her when she rode him, the rough skin sending sensations through her. Sure, she had to angle herself a little to lean down and kiss him – what with his belly – but his hands would always travel to her ass at that point and he'd make sure their nether regions were always connected. Her time on top never lasted long though. Harvey was dominant. He loved getting as deep as he could and that was best done with him topping. That way his belly wouldn't get in the way too badly and he'd be able to give it to her just how she liked it. So when she was flipped over, she wasn't surprised that Harvey was taking control back.

Her pleasure was always a priority. Harvey was often like that with his women: if they weren't enjoying it, then he shouldn't be either. Trial and error led him to the best combination of pressure from his belly and the proper finger placements. Worked every time. Liz was screaming beneath him seconds after he took the reins. If the neighbors hadn't known his name before, they surely did now.

But Elizabeth matched him. Every time he was just getting comfortable with a pace and was starting to feel an orgasm building up, Liz would change it up. She'd push him, end up in his lap, pull him back down, fight him to top, or even pull back just enough so that he wasn't inside her only to turn to lay on her stomach and urge him to fill her once again. The detective loved it when she let him take her like that: clasping her thighs closed tightly, feeling his balls slap against them with every thrust. At that angle, he couldn't reach her clit with his fingers but the pressure from the mattress did the job and she was reeling from yet another orgasm minutes later.

She was pulling away shortly after, trying to turn herself to kiss him, but he dug his fingertips into her side and bit her shoulder. "I swear to God, don't. I'm…right there…" his breathing was strained and the moans that followed that sentence sent shockwaves through her. And then he was pulsing inside of her, crying out her name, slamming sloppily into her, some of the cum leaking out and onto her thighs.

The lazy kisses he always peppered on her skin after an orgasm were delightful. Harvey slumped beside her, moaning and breathing and shaking his head. Before turning over, she trailed her fingers over the cum on her thighs and pressed the digits into her mouth. She curled into him, resting a hand on his chest, her head on his shoulder. His arm wrapped around her kept away the chill in the room.

As she lie awake, breath finally caught, heartrate still elevated, her phone went off. Harvey's arm was draped over her bare chest now and he grumbled about the noise, kissing at the skin on her back as she reached for the resounding thing.

Bruce was on the line, whispering into the phone. "I'm going to tell him." She stayed silent, her heartrate increasing even more. "When Alfred comes back home in the morning, I'm going to tell him what Selina did. I'll leave you out of it. I don't want him to lose trust in you."

Harvey was looking at her by now and she could see his curious gaze even in the dark.

"If that's what you want, Bruce."

But the line went dead before she finished the sentence.

Her breath caught in her throat as she placed the phone back on the nightstand. "Harv, I hate to do this, but…we need to talk." She didn't want to watch his expression as she admitted things to him, but she watched his forearm reach over her, click on the bedside lamp, and she kissed the skin as he pulled it away.

"Mmm, I see what you're doin' there. Don't distract me. What's goin' on?" he grumbled, sitting with his head against the headboard. The bedsheets fell down, exposing his torso. She traced her fingers across his faded tattoos.

She took this time to explain it all to him – about the promise she made to Bruce, the call she'd gotten at work from the boy, the secrets they kept from Alfred, the shooting gallery, the drugs thrown out the window, the look on Bruce's face when he considered pushing Reggie, the look on Cat's face after she did it.

The detective sat still, expression incomprehensible, biting his tongue while Liz begged and begged for him to keep this from Jim.

"You should have told me sooner," Harvey ran his hands through his hair, rubbed at his temples, could not  _believe_ this case was her doing. Selina wouldn't have managed this if she didn't get a ride from Liz. Or maybe she would have.

"I was gonna tell you, I know that I should have. But I was stuck between a rock and a hard place. I just felt so obligated to help Bruce – I made him a promise. I was so  _angry_ about what happened to Alfie, I just couldn't stand it. So I told him I'd help in any way. And that meant me going back to who I used to be."

Harvey pretended that last sentence didn't happen. He didn't want to think about all she'd done when people knew her as Harleen, though they needed to talk about it sometime. "And what about Bruce? He call to make sure you're quiet?"

"No. He's telling Alfred in the morning."

"To throw you under the bus?"

"He's leaving me out of it so the man still  _trusts_ me. This was not what I thought was going to happen. I thought…-"

"Liz, this city is not what anyone expected. And maybe Reggie would still be alive if he hadn't threatened Bruce. Would you have let him go if Selina hadn't pushed him?" He raised a brow at her, both of them knowing her answer to that. "We do what we have to do. To survive, right?" He was quoting her. "I ain't happy about it, but at least you're covered. Weaseling you out of a conviction is  _not_ how I want to spend tomorrow."

"You won't say anything, right?"

"Yeah, yeah, I got it." He reached over her again to turn off the light, but there was no kissing this time. "It's on Alfred. If he reports something, we take it from there."

"I'm sorry," she breathed after five minutes of silence from the man.

There was a long pause and she held her breath, wondering if he was pissed or just asleep. Finally, "I get why you didn't tell me. Just…trust that I have your best interests at heart."

"Oh, ya do, do you?" she chuckled, turning to face him.

He groaned as she trailed her finger down his belly and ghosted it over the tip of his dick. "Mmm, most of the time."

She giggled, nibbling on his ear, then planting an urgent kiss on his lips. That had gone better than she'd hoped.

They fell asleep believing that nothing would come of this. It was another dead scumbag – case closed. If Alfred even thought about throwing Selina under the bus with this, she'd drag Bruce down with her and Alfred would never allow that to happen. Liz was safe. For now.


	29. Chapter 29

"You have  _got_ to be kidding me."

Liz tossed her files down on the chair beside her desk, glaring at the occupied seat opposite it. To her defense, the bad mood was brought on by Harvey storming around the apartment in a hurry to get to the precinct considering he'd overslept. Again. Not to mention the drive to work was spent on the phone with Alfred. The man confided in her about Selina's actions, which she had to pretend to be unaware of. All the secrets were building up and it was becoming too much for her conscience.

So when she walked into Arkham to find her office door open, her heart sank. And when she saw an officer standing beside a seated Jack, she almost blew.

"Well hello to you as well."

"What, in God's name, could you possibly need from me this early?" As she spoke, the officer in the room looked at her then looked away. "I have you scheduled today at 10."

"I've been on my best behavior and I think I deserve a gift…don't you agree?"

She almost said 'no', cussed him out, and told him to leave. But the guard was there and that was not professional.

"I see. Perhaps I'll think of something. Now, you have a meeting with me at 10 and I will speak with you then." She nodded at the guard who demanded that Jack rise to his feet.

Instead, Jack stared at Liz, lowering his chin, a small half smirk on his face which made the scar look even more menacing. The handcuffs jingled as he lunged up, grasping her throat. Liz's fingers dug into his forearm, trying to break skin and fight him off. The guard went to grab him, but Jack pushed her head down toward the corner of the desk and Liz wound up on the ground, clutching her head.

She felt warm, slick blood on her fingertips and she pulled away, wiping again at the painful spot just beside her eye. Though lightheaded, she struggled to her feet and narrowed her eyes at Jack who was being dragged out of her office, laughing the whole way back to his cell.

The medic came in to care for her wound, making sure her eyes were alright as well. Though her boss was busy, she managed to make a phone call to her before 10 o'clock rolled around.

"I understand that you two had an incident this morning, but know that you're still required to see him today," she spoke through the receiver.

"I-" Liz began to argue, but her boss hung up the phone.

Fuming, she stormed down to the room and buzzed in. Jack wasn't there yet so she sat in the seat alone, staring at the chipping wooden table. Her head pounded. She wanted to vomit. Jack's abusive ways were still taking their toll on her, even though they were separated. It still felt like torture. A part of her felt like she was the patient in this room.

When Jack came in, he sat down and the guard latched the handcuffs to the bolted down table. It didn't give Liz any more comfort. When the guard left, the two of them sat silently.

A few minutes in, Jack spoke. "Stitches?"

"No," she spoke coldly.

"Damn."

"You're trying to get me fired, aren't you? You want me to blow up on my boss. You want me to lose it all, don't you?"

He chuckled but didn't answer. "Rumor has it that you're dating a police officer." She didn't correct him. "Setting yourself up for protection,  _Elizabeth_." A giggle came from him and Liz focused on the healed scar on his cheek. "Does he  _know_ …?"

Lizzy stared at Jack now, eyes hollow. Fear filled her. Fear and rage and annoyance. Without speaking it, they both knew he was threatening her. He had friends. They knew where he was. If he got word to them, they'd be all too eager to kill Harvey. After everything Liz had done to them, they would want to get even. She couldn't help but let the emotions show on her face.

"There she isssss," he half hissed, half laughed. "Where have you been hiding, my dear Harleen?"

"Why are you doing this to me?" her voice sounded foreign.

"What am I doing? This is  _all_ you. All your fault. I wouldn't be here if you didn't go to the police. You created this. You dug your own grave. Now  _lay in it._ " The last part came out as a growl. "You miss me. Whatever you and this cop have, it doesn't compare to us," he chortled. "The fighting, the long nights of pure naked  _bliss_."

She wanted to say  _stop_ , but she just didn't have it in her today. Didn't even sound like herself – didn't even  _think_ like herself. "No." was all she managed.

But he kept on. "All I tried to do was fix you. You were damaged goods when I found you. After everything with my father, I needed something to…clear my head. And you were it," he emphasized the 't'. "I kept you around a lot longer than I should have. That was my gift to you."

 _Don't think, don't think, don't think._  "You should'a just let me go."

"And miss all the fun?" he laughed. "Don't think that just because I'm in here and we're through, I'm done with you. There's more coming."

It was like a floodgate opening; everything drowning her in one gush. All the memories she'd buried of him beating her, verbally demeaning her, and urging her to be a person she never was – they were all back. Her head pounded, the new wound throbbed. She was a joke – she wasn't fooling anyone. She was still the same person she was running from.

Quickly, she stood and b-lined for the door, his laughter howling behind her.

Anger. Fury like she'd never felt before was burning in her belly. She felt ashamed. She felt humiliated. Her fists were clenched the entire walk to her office for her purse and keys. She didn't sign out, just sprinted to her car. And then her phone was ringing in her back pocket; the phone Harvey bought for her.

"Hey, are you, uh…are ya busy? I'm on break in ten so I figured I'd ask if you wanted to meet for coffee."

She breathed unevenly, trying to calm herself before telling him that yes, she would. Yes, it would be good for her. Yes, she wanted to be with someone who wasn't a nutjob.

Honestly, she didn't pay much attention to her route to get there, but she snapped out of it just in time to parallel park. It was starting to rain, per usual in Gotham. When she saw Harvey's car, she looked around for him. Maybe he was going to approach her car, or was he in the coffee shop already?

She glanced around, trying desperately to find him and suddenly realizing that she'd walked off the job. A breather. She'd tell them she needed a breather.

But her boss was a bitch. Following Strange's orders: know your place and be in it, always. They were all too concerned about people wandering around the facility – of not knowing where their staff was at all times. It was a little off-putting. And now to place her in that room with a patient after he'd attacked her? She didn't  _owe_ them an explanation for leaving. Fuck it.

When she saw a guy beating someone in the alley, she started reaching for her phone to call Harvey so he could settle it. Until she recognized that hat and that build.

A quick shift to get out of her car and she was running to that alley, standing mere feet away from the scene; fists clenched. The man had Harvey's gun aimed at his chest now.

He was focused on Harvey; didn't expect a thing, certainly not a five foot woman tackling him to the concrete. Elizabeth didn't fight for the gun, she just beat to injure. The man's face was soon coated in blood, so were her hands. When she heard Harvey begging her to stop, she didn't register it. But when she felt Harvey's hands on her shoulders, she paused mid-swing.

"Hey!" he was yelling. And, "that's enough-"

But she didn't stop. Not until the man dropped the gun and paid for emasculating Harvey. Maybe he was used to the barrel of a gun pointed at him, but she was not. Seeing it lit something in her. It threw lighter fluid on her already burning fire. Burning from Jack and all the nasty things he turned her into. Burning from her secrets and her fear of things being uncovered. Burning from the realization that the job she'd been busting her ass for, for more than 18 years was not what she'd expected. That her boss was a fucker. She wanted to be happy finally and there were so many things dragging her back down. She'd tried  _so hard_ to start a new life.

Elizabeth felt this man's nose break beneath her knuckles and soon her hands were squeezing his throat. When she grew tired of the gasping, she made a swift movement and broke his neck.

After she stood, she looked between Harvey and the body of the man. Harv was against the brick wall, black eye just starting to show, bloodied lip. It took her seven seconds to fall to her knees, shell-shocked. What had she just done?

He took her home almost instantly. Drove her car – she never let anyone drive her car.

He asked her about the wound beside her eye, noting that it was patched. But she wasn't ready to speak. He'd guessed it, though. Guessed that it was Jack. Only Jack could make her this frustrated – could push her to this point. And it destroyed Harvey. A part of him had been hopeful; maybe she could be different than her past. In the last 48 hours, however, she'd proven that things were all too similar. He wanted to fix her, but maybe he never could.

Harv made hot chocolate as she sat with a blanket draped over her shoulders. The room felt suddenly cold. Nothing felt right. It was like she wasn't welcome inside her own body.

Harvey snapped his phone shut, coming back from a phone call that she hoped wasn't Jim. He slipped the phone in his pocket and sighed. Butch was on his way.  _Butch_. Of all people. He'd hit his breaking point. The guy could take care of their little problem – that he knew.

"What'd I jus' do?" her voice was off. Harvey's eyes widened. It almost sounded like an accent. She cleared her throat. "It was the last thing I expected to see tonight."

"It did get out of hand. Needed backup, but you came and, well…"

"I killed him." Her voice was low, as if she meant this only for herself, but Harvey was listening again for the accent to show through. He bit his tongue.

"I called Butch." Shortly after the statement, there was a knock at the door and Harvey unlocked it. The large man barreled into the room, staring with a humored expression.

"Harvey, I thought you knew how to clean up your own messes. Why'd ya call little ol' me for this job?" he chuckled. When Harvey didn't answer, Butch looked over at Lizzy. His eyes focused, mind slowly registering. "Oh, shit…"

Harvey hadn't wanted him to know – didn't  _think_ he could figure it out himself – but it happened and he felt a sinking feeling.

"You called Butch to take care of this?" Lizzy stood on shaky legs.

"Hey, doll, you ain't lookin' so good." Butch reached an arm out to steady her. He took her hand. Her knuckles were bruised. "Liz, what happened?"

Jealousy pumped through Harvey's veins again, remembering her straddling his thick thighs all those months ago. That felt like a lifetime ago. It felt like he was remembering a different person than the one sitting before him now.

She didn't speak at first, so Butch waited her out which gave Harvey some time to inspect the  _'V'_  carved in his forehead.

"Jack set me off today and I did somethin' stupid," she admitted, looking directly at Butch. Harvey stepped forward, eyebrows furrowed. "I told him about Jack last time we saw each other, honey. It's okay." She raised a hand toward him. "He tried chokin' me out 'an I jus'…" there was that accent again and Harvey zeroed in on it. "Slammed my head against my desk…'n then I was told that I still had to counsel him afterward. My head hadn't even stopped bleedin'."

"Well that dead scumbag ain't gonna hold Harv at gunpoint anymore," Butch laughed. He whistled. "Pretty bang-up job you did there, kid. Barehanded, huh?" he pursed his lips and nodded. "I'm impressed, Liz. Really. Maybe ya  _do_ have a job with Oswald." The smile left his face as soon as he spoke the last sentence. Liz's eyes widened as Harvey took a step forward, towering over her.

" _What?_ "

"I mentioned that maybe I should have Oswald show me the ropes of this city. I…"

"-Are you freggin'  _nuts?_ " Harvey's voice rose, ears reddening. "Unbelievable."

"Nothin' wrong with a woman wanting to feel safer in a city like this. I wouldn't let anything happen to her, Harv, you know that."

Harvey spun on his heels, grabbing Butch by the collar. "Don't. Butch,  _don't_."

Liz watched as Butch started that twitching she'd seen a month before. His reaction was chilling and it rose Liz to her feet, pulling at Harvey's shoulder. She could see the look of curiosity on his face, but she wanted him to stop.

"Boys. Stop. I'm not joining Oswald right now, so cool it."

"' _Right now_ '!?" Harvey quoted, letting up on Butch. "Lizzy, you can't be serious."

It was a conversation for another time and Butch could sense that he wasn't ready to get in the middle of it all. He straightened himself, shook Harvey's hand, gently took Liz's.

"I'm a phone call away if you need me," the big man started backing toward the door, letting their hands drop to their sides again.

Harvey raised a finger. "This stays between us – no mention to Penguin."

Butch paused which made Harvey turn to him again, mouth agape. "I didn't say  _nothin'_. Promise. It's just…uh…this dude was one 'a Maroni's. He was on Penguin's hit list and he's been on our radar for a few days now. Kid just got back in town. Pretty sure Oswald already knows."

"And he knows it's Lizzy?" Harvey yelled.

Butch raised his hands in defense again. "No clue. I'll keep my ear to the ground and let you know when I know."

Liz wanted to get out of the apartment, away from Harvey and the situation. But as soon as Butch closed the door, Harvey was pulling her to the couch and staring at her with the most intense glare. She didn't blink at him, didn't move her lips or protest.

"You've done this before, haven't you?"

The woman remained quiet, eyes closing for a second as she gathered her thoughts. She could hear Harvey breathe sharply through his nose. Her eyes opened when he started to get up.

"No, wait, Harv. Wait," she pulled at his hand, wrapping her fingers around his pinky. "I haven't done this before. Not this."

The detective sat back down slowly, ears reddened, jaw clenched. "Harleen." He spoke it just above a whisper, but it cut right through her. "I can't do this anymore. I can't keep turning a blind eye to things, stay in the dark. You need to tell me what you've done. You crossed that line tonight."

"I know," she acknowledged. "Just…promise me you won't walk out that door after I tell you."

"You know I can't promise that."

She nodded. "You're right," There was a silent moment between the two again. "Remember you asked about my sister? I told you that Jack tried getting with her. Well, it went a little farther than that. I didn't think much of it when he'd asked me to invite her over for the weekend. Said it was a good idea to spend time with family and I agreed after a few weeks of him pestering me about it. It was a Friday that Catherine came over and was supposed to stay until Sunday. Quiet night of drinking wine and letting her get to know Jack. You know, that first night she actually  _liked him_." She could remember the pinkness to her cheeks from the wine, but also Jack's flirting. That's how he was and she'd been used to it at the time. "Next morning comes around and I'm up early as usual. Went grocery shopping and when I came back, Cathy was screaming."

Harvey sat wide-eyed, breath caught in his throat in wonderment. And Liz could feel her terror creeping up in her throat. "She kept screaming,  _'Harls, Harls, get in here!_ ' and I just remember spilling all the groceries on the floor and skidding down the hall to the bathroom. Jack was bare naked, Cathy covering herself with the shower curtain, soaking wet. And Jack was still stroking himself when I ran in. She tells me he's a creep, says he's been in the bathroom with her for five minutes, started pulling back the curtain to watch her in the shower, shoved a finger inside of her vagina, laughed when she hit him, refused to leave, tried getting in the shower with her. And there I was. Left them alone together. I felt like such a shitty big sister, yanno?"

"You couldn't have known-"

"No. I could have. He'd seen pictures of her, made some inappropriate comments about her, would ask about her often. I should have put it together. I just thought he was all talk, yanno? Sayin' shit to get me fired up." Liz shook her head, rubbing her eyes. "I stupidly shoved him out of the room and that pissed him off. He reopens the door, chokes me out, shoves me in the hallway, locks the door, and proceeds to rape my sister." Liz let a few tears fall. "I tried so hard to get it open. Tried picking it, throwing furniture at it. I was so bruised after throwing myself at it and that door was still chipped and cracked when I sold the place." Her throat hurt from speaking so much and her ears were ringing, but Harvey was still there.

"All of this happened about a month before I ran to the cops. A month before I seduced some bigwig at the university and got them to put a rush on my order for my updated diploma with my new name on it. Harvey, you  _have_ to understand why I haven't told you this. It's shameful, it's messy, it's  _horrible_ , and I love you. I want you to think the best of me and this isn't helping my case. I  _killed someone_ , Harvey. Tonight. Now. I let Jack push me into dragging my sister into the house like she was some daughter of a big-pocketed mayor – like he'd get  _money_ from that ordeal. I thought that's what this was all about until he raped my sister. This wasn't just about the money, Harvey. He was sick. He needs help. And now I have to sit across the desk from a psychopath who I used to love, a psychopath who raped my sister, who coerced me daily, who killed people and put their bodies in Rubbermaid containers with chemicals." She was almost yelling at this point, her breath running thin and gasping leaving her between every sentence. "And tonight, I snapped. I snapped because I can't keep  _doing this_ , Harvey. I can't keep lying about who I am or what I did."

She was sobbing now, resting her head on her knees and reminding herself to breathe. Harvey didn't even make any attempt to move closer or comfort her. He was too shocked.

"I want to turn myself in," it came out as a whisper but Harvey heard it clearly.

"No." Harvey snapped. "Absolutely not. No. Don't even think about it."

"Then what do I do?" she felt like she was in way over her head.

Harvey pulled her in, pulled her on his lap, wrapped his arms around her, and pressed gentle kisses to her shoulder while she cried against his neck.

"I don't know," he answered honestly. "But turning yourself in isn't an option." And suddenly his mind was turning to possibilities – framing Jack for the murder of that scum in the alley, or putting a hit out on Jack but that would mean someone busting in to Arkham and upsetting the order. No one would do it – they'd be found out. Maybe someone on the inside…

But Harvey reminded himself that he was trying this whole  _clean cop_ thing for now and that wasn't an option.

"Whatever happens, you need to stay as far away from Jack as possible. No more of this crap. Who do you have to go to, to get him off of your charge?"

A silent moment passed between them before she answered, "Hugo Strange."

"Then you go to Strange and demand something changes."

Liz was silent the rest of the night.


	30. Chapter 30

Sitting on the oversized couch in the study, Liz felt relaxed. While Bruce and Alfred discussed the goings on in the streets – the rioting, the anger, all brought on by the war between Maroni and Falcone – Liz pondered her current situation. She'd called off of work, telling them that she was sick, hanging up before the shift manager could ask about her little disappearance the day before. She didn't want to face Hugo Strange. A part of her didn't even want to quit. So she decided to hold off just a bit longer.

She'd cut her nails down. There was blood beneath them – the blood of that guy in the alley. Yet again she was hiding. Yet again it felt like a sick fire burning in her belly, heating her to the core until she was boiling over.

The look of adoration on Alfred's face when he listened to Bruce speak was enough to knock her out. She wondered if anyone in her life ever looked at her like that. Love. Pure worship flitting in the room, ignoring all the horrors in the streets. It was almost too much for her.

"Elizabeth, are you alright?" the butler questioned quietly beside her, bending gently toward her as Bruce scoured around the room. She'd missed the conversation, she'd realized, and Alfred looked quite concerned.

"Yes, I'm sorry. I…" she shook her head, sighing. "Been a rough week."

Nodding, Alfred stood at full height once again. "Yes, I second that." He paused for a moment, looking over at Bruce who was still acting eccentric. "Fancy a glass of wine?" He hummed softly.

How could Liz say no?

So at two in the afternoon – when she should have been helping Bruce with his searching for clues about his father – she was drinking her second glass of wine with Alfred. The man sat opposite of her, nursing a glass of merlot while she sipped a pinot grigio.

"I called in sick today," she blurted to Alfred and the two of them laughed. "I can't take that place much more."

"Arkham?" he inquired. "You hate it?"

She hummed softly, considering the statement. "Yes, kind of. I got stuck with one of the worst patients in the building and I'm kinda sorta putting off talking to someone about it. The dude's scary."

"Who's this?"

"Hugo Strange," she hushed. "Not a very personable man, you know? I just feel like I'm being watched everywhere I go. He probably saw me run out of the building yesterday." She finished her glass.

"You  _ran out_?"

At that, Liz's cheeks reddened. Boy was she loose-lipped when she got a little alcohol in her on an empty stomach. "That's not very professional of me, is it?" she waved it off.

"Believe me, we've all been there." There was a long moment between the two of them and they realized Bruce had been listening. The both of them glanced toward the young man.

"If you hate it, perhaps you should quit. Come back here full-time. Move in."

Both Alfred and Liz were wide-eyed and Liz's breath hitched at the offer.

"Bruce, I couldn't do a thing like that – you two are busy enough without me taking up space here." Quickly she set her glass on a coaster on the end table. "Besides, I'd have to kick Bullock out considering he's currently a couch-surfer."

Alfred excused himself for a moment and Liz wondered if she said the wrong thing. Bruce didn't seem to notice his behavior and instead continued to repeat the words Lucius Fox had told him at Wayne Enterprises: his father was a stoic.

When her phone rang, she hurried to grab it, noticing it was Butch's number and deciding to take the call outside; partially because she wanted to give Bruce quiet to think and partially because of the body Butch recently disposed of for her.

"Butch? What's goin' on?" she softly closed the door to the back patio, looking at the beautiful landscaping of the grounds. Often, she'd seen people working diligently to tidy up the greenery. They did quite the job.

"Liz?" his voice was hushed and there was an eerie silence, "Hey, I…you're not gonna like this…"

"Does this have anything to do with last night? Butch, please tell me this isn't going to haunt me. He's dead, isn't he? Oh, God…" she held her head, a million thoughts running through her mind. "Do I have to go back and take care of it? Can you? Oh, Butch…"

"No, no, nothin' like that, Liz. That's taken care of. It's just that…stuff's going down. Carnegie Boulevard. Bullock's here. Jim, too. They got Falcone and Maroni's on his way. And Fish."

Now that was a name she wasn't expecting to hear. She thought Fish was gone for good, from what Butch told her that night. Fish was out of Gotham, probably safe, maybe dead, but why would she come back?

But above all, Liz remembered what Butch told her about the torture. Victor had blurred those lines in Butch's mind – one minute he was loyal to Penguin, the next he'd remember Fish. Both emotions he'd felt for the two of them were powerful and opposing. Liz couldn't imagine what kind of torment Butch was going through right now.

"Liz, I need you. I hate to do this now, but…this is what you do. Psych-type, right? Fix me. I'm beggin' ya."

Butch sounded so pained and honestly Liz just wanted to continue her relaxing wine-drinking with Alfred and chat with Bruce and consider the possibility that she  _could_ live here and be happy and go on vacations with them to their multiple mansions around the world. But she was here now. And here she owed so many different people so many things.

Butch had gone out on a limb for her just 18 hours before. Meeting him now was the least she could do, though she knew it wasn't safe.

"The warehouse on Carnegie you said?" she nodded, sighing and looking up at the sky for a moment when he gave an affirmative noise. "Is it safe? I don't have a gun."

"Not the safest, but I'll claim I need to take a breather. Meet you out there. And Liz? Thanks."

When they hung up, she rubbed her temples and wondered what excuse she should make. And then it hit her: Butch said they had Harvey and Jim. Who were ' _they_ '?

Just as she was about to turn and re-enter the manor, she caught a glimpse of something from the corner of her eye.

"Alfred?" she gasped at the look he was giving her. Sullen, worrisome, hurt.

"Wha's happened? Was that Butch  _Gilzean_? And what, exactly, do you have to  _take care of_? Who's dead?"

So he'd heard everything. And Lizzy was incredibly tired of lying. If anyone knew what it was like to kill someone, it was a vet. Glancing inside, she noticed Bruce wasn't nearby.

"Alfred, Harvey got attacked in an alley last night. The guy was killed…I killed him." She said it slowly, softly, with no fear. "I thought I was just protecting him and keeping the guy down, but…he died. And Butch disposed of the body."

Alfred's mouth hung open slightly and there was no movement except his breathing. Suddenly, the statement she made rang true:  _we're all capable of being dangerous, Mr. Pennyworth_.

"Protection, you say?" his head was spinning. What with the confession Bruce made recently and now this, he was a mess. The people around him were going mad. "What caused his death, Ms. Sorkin?"

"…I broke his neck." She spoke it so simply, Alfred almost choked on air. "I got carried away in the moment and that isn't a good excuse, but I now know the guy was a mob man who worked for Maroni. He didn't deserve what he got, but he shouldn't have put a gun to Bullock's head." She paused, waiting for Alfred to kick her out or cuss at her or curse her very name. But none of that came. Only her ears ringing and a tension she couldn't shake. "Aren't you going to freak out now? Say that I'm some kinda psycho?"

"S'that's what Bullock said, huh?" he tucked his hands behind his back. "I gather that he isn't reflecting upon every perpetrator he's taken out before they could reach booking."

"And that's what you're doing, now that you know: comparing this to every kill you've ever made in your time on the battlefield? Is it making it any easier to swallow? That the woman who's looking after Bruce's mental and emotional well-being is a murderer?" she was being difficult, he could tell, but those were the old defense mechanisms kicking in.

"I think you did what you had to do and if it was Maroni's guy, you'd have a lot more trouble on your hands right now say he was still alive." Alfred was the voice of reason currently and it was a welcome thought for Liz. "Though I am weary about your plans with young Master Wayne." He paused. "A killer isn't in you, Elizabeth. I can tell that. But fear does strange things to people and I'm a bit worried about your future here."

She tried to remain calm and let her training remind her to hide her emotions, but she took a soft step toward Alfred, took his hand gently, stared pleadingly into his eyes. "No. No, please, Alfred. You can't do this. I know it's right to push me away and I can tell you're weary of the secrets, but I promise I will tell you everything."

" _Everything_?" He raised a brow.

"Yes," she agreed. "Everything. I can't keep running from this…" the thought of losing contact with Bruce made tears well in her eyes. What had she done? In a matter of minutes, she felt like the life she'd built in Gotham was crumbling beneath her feet and she couldn't gain traction to climb out of this mess. "You have to believe that this was not my intention. I never meant to hurt anyone and I will  _never_ hurt you or Bruce. I just…I just lost control."

Alfred raised his chin, squinting his eyes at her a moment, aware that their fingers were still intermingled. "I couldn't do that to Bruce. He's quite fond of you."

"And I, him," she sniffled. Without warning she embraced the man, pressing her face against his neck and inhaling softly. "I can't lose you guys too. This is the only place I feel like I belong in this city."

That struck Alfred. Never had he heard her speak like that. Never had she been so open and emotional – not even that night they'd spent together.

"Please…stop crying," he spoke gingerly, rubbing at her hair. "I never know how to comfort crying women."

They both laughed at that and she pulled away, straightening once again. Once the tears were wiped away, she looked completely composed. It was a wonder to Alfred how she did it.

"Honestly, I really wish we could stay and chat – I have a lot to tell you – but I need to go talk a friend down from the ledge right now. Fish Mooney's back in town." She ran a hand through her hair, trying her best to be honest with Alfred because they had to start somewhere.

"You need a gun, I heard," Alfred muttered, slowly taking her by the wrist and bringing her in the side door, away from the study. "Just don't lose it. Fingerprints and all that," Alfred attempted a joke but the mood was heavy and tense once again and the laughter never came. "Be careful."

She wished she listened to him, she really did. When she arrived at Carnegie, there were at least ten guards casing the place. She waited until she could see Butch from her car, tucked the gun in the back of her waistband, and booked it toward him. The large man placed his hand around her shoulders as they walked and the two of them ducked back inside the building without so much as one word spoken.

Yelling was heard below them and Liz wondered where Harvey was. Where Jim was. Butch saw the look in her eye and chuckled.

"Loyalty…" he laughed, shaking his head. "Bullock's safe, kid. Been untied for a half hour at least. Fish ain't got no qualms with that dude, for sure. Told me he was the one who helped get her outta town." Liz tried not to let that hurt, but it did. "Do you know anything about meditation?" The question was laughable, but Liz kept a straight face. "I been readin' up on things a lot. Tryin' to get back to normal. Don't know what that is anymore, but I'm aiming to find it."

Liz shook her head, saddened by his honesty and his lack of truth. She'd felt lost for years, but never in this sense. "Meditation, huh? You wanna try it?" she looked over her shoulder as they ascended the stairs. "Nobody's gonna come lookin' for you?"

"Not yet. I told 'em I needed to go lie down. Fish'll come lookin' for me." He flinched a bit, shaking his head. "Or should I get Penguin down? He's still strung up there with Falcone…" he stopped walking and Liz bumped into his back, reaching to grab onto the railing so she didn't fall back down the metal stairs they'd climbed.

They found a room up top, close to the roof. Small couch in the corner of the room, some table and chairs, a refrigerator: must have been a break room for the employees when this place was still in business.

A small sigh left him when Liz plopped herself down on the couch, kicking off her shoes and pulling her legs in. She pat her lap, motioning for him to come over.

"Well, if we're gonna do this and get somewhere, we gotta start soon, huh?" she was trying to lighten the mood, but they didn't have forever to work on this.

She instructed him to lie down – and this took him heaving his legs over the armrest – then setting his head in her lap. Her voice was soft as she urged him to close his eyes and relax. She started loosening his tie, unfastening the top few buttons of his dress shirt, then patting his chest and beginning to rub deep circles into his temples. He was tense the entire time, flinching at her touches until she assured him everything was going to be okay. The position wasn't the best for meditation, but they began. She instructed him to be aware of his breathing, the proper way of diaphragmatic breathing, and let the silence take over.

"This ain't workin'," he acknowledged after a short time passed. "Talk me through it," he sat up, turned to face her, held his head.

So she began walking through the first time he met Fish, the first time he met Penguin, who they were, how they thought, what made them tick. But each time she thought they were making progress, it was like they were hitting a wall, like his memories had been tampered with somehow. All her years of studying, Liz had never encountered anything like it.

"This is never gonna work, Lizzy. Never. I just don't have it. Fish can't be back, not really. It ain't her. And Penguin…" he sat up now, turned his whole body to face her. "He's my boss now. I gotta be loyal. Right?"

Liz bit her tongue. Penguin thought he could take over Gotham, yet Fish was awful to Harvey. Neither of them were a good option. "I honestly don't know, Butch. You just need to focus on doing what's right for you. How are you gonna get out of this alive? Who is the best option for you to walk away from this with?"

Butch's eyes softened for a moment, but it was short lived due to the interruption of the gunshots and screaming going on below them. They took a moment to glance at one another before she put her shoes back on and they booked it out of there. She'd lost count of how many flights of stairs there were, but the chaos was slower and things grew quiet once again.

They slowed until they could see a gathering of people. Fish and Maroni stood in the middle of the fray and Liz gasped when she saw Cat standing there too. Harvey was a few feet away, constantly glancing over at Jim who was strung up beside Maroni. Butch didn't stop her from approaching the crowd quietly, both of them feeling like they were walking on eggshells.

Liz didn't speak when she put a hand on Selina's shoulder, making her jump. A look crossed her face that screamed  _what are_ you _doing here_? But Liz just silently stared at her, gaze hard. Her next movement was a few steps toward Harvey, reaching out and grabbing his wrist. The way he looked at her, so pissed and frustrated…and then he met eyes with Butch who stood a few feet behind her and it all clicked.

"What are you doing?" he whispered in her ear.

"Helping Butch."

But a gunshot rang out and Maroni dropped dead before everybody – more shots fired from grunts of his, the ringing in her ears not subsiding until she grabbed Selina and ran. Harvey was gone and so was Butch.

"I'm not going back with you. We're safe," she insisted. "Let me call Alfred. We can stay there tonight. My car's right-"

"-No! I'm not ditching this awesome gig to go back and hide away with the boy wonder," she slipped her hand out of Liz's grasp. "I'm staying."

" _Selina_ ," Liz hissed, her patience running thin. "Get. In. The. Car.  _Now._ "

More shots rang out behind them and they ducked behind Liz's car. When silence fell once again, Liz peeked over the hood to see if anyone was near. Yes. Harvey Bullock looking disheveled and exhausted. He caught her eye and huffed loudly.

"You hotheaded little…-" he seethed, trekking away from Gordon and placed his palms flat on the hood of her car.

Liz stood then, glancing toward Cat. Her mouth dropped open at the sight of the girl slashing her tires.

"God damn it, what-"

"I'm not going anywhere," she affirmed, jogging off.

"Son of a  _bitch!_ " Liz whispered, feeling fear pooling in the pit of her stomach. She glanced over when Jim and Falcone approached.

"Leave the car, we worry about it later. Right now, we gotta hide." Jim grabbed Liz by the arm and the four of them took off through the streets.

More gunfire came again as they hid. When Harvey pressed her to the wall and kissed her temple, she realized how worried the man was.

"If we don't make it outta this alive, Liz…I…" he stopped, whispered he loved her in her ear, then pulled away as quickly as he came. "Alright, Jim. What's the plan?"

But the doors opened and there stood Cat and multiple guards.

"I cannot believe you, Selina," Liz scolded like a mother. Cat pushed the guard who was pointing a gun at Liz. She replaced his gun with her own and jabbed into Liz's back.

"It's  _Cat_ ," she said. "Fish Mooney is powerful and I ain't goin' nowhere."

Having guns aimed at her back as they walked through the streets was not comforting at all. Liz kept sending glances at Harvey, trying to concoct a plan to get them out. Maybe if they found Butch. Maybe then he'd help them. Maybe.

"-Well," came a droning voice. "What did the Cat drag in?" Liz's eyes locked on Fish Mooney: one blue, one brown eye staring at her in the dark. Chills ran down her spine.

"Ms. Mooney," she greeted, attempting to be kind.

"I hear you've been keeping my Butch company. Hear he's safe with you," she hummed, grabbing her arm and dragging her along. "I'm grateful that someone was looking out for that sweet, sweet man." She narrowed her eyes at her. "However, he's broken. What did you let happen?"

"I'm sorry, he's my business,  _how_  exactly?" Liz raised her voice, no longer playing along. The look Jim sent her made her feel so small. When she pulled her arm from Fish's grasp, the woman stopped and narrowed her eyes. "Zsasz got to him as soon as you left. We couldn't find him. And I fail to see how he's my responsibility."

"He thinks quite highly of you, Ms. Quinzel," she hummed beside her ear and Liz went stiff. "Yes I know all about that." So it wasn't a secret anymore. "I think we can work something out nicely."

Liz was getting used to gunfire at that point in the night. She barely startled when everyone started crouching down. Penguin was near, firing some type of machine gun and suddenly people were all around and bodies were dropping and she lost sight of Harvey and Jim, but she could hear Penguin shouting. Footfalls were everywhere, the place reeked of smoke and death, and she was in the middle of a brawl between Fish's people and Maroni's.

Ducking behind a shipping crate, she pulled out her phone and dialed Harvey only to have it go to voicemail. Cussing, she glanced around and made a run for it. One man sent a right hook and knocked her on the ground. The pain coursed through her forehead and she dropped her phone on her fall, but forced herself up and toward it before it got crushed. The guy kept coming, kicking her in the ribs. The third kick, she twisted herself toward his foot and yanked him down with all of her strength. He crawled after her as she stood on shaky legs, but she was faster.

Her goal was to get out without any bullet wounds, which she barely managed. As the night air circled around her, she dialed the only other person who wasn't involved in this mess.

"Alfred?" she gasped as he picked up on the fourth ring. His voice was deeper, tired. She swallowed hard. "Alfred, I need help," she was practically screaming into the phone.

"Wha's happened?" fear was evident in his voice. "Liz, where are you?"

"The warehouse on Carnegie," she gasped, pulling the gun he'd given her. "Alfie, I messed up. I really messed up."

There was slamming on the other line as Alfred fumbled for his keys and a coat. "I'll be right there. Stay on the phone with me. Are you hurt?"

Liz swallowed hard, looking herself over quickly and finding a single knife wound that she assumed was from running in the middle of the battle. "Just a little blood. I'll be fine." But when she glanced up, a group of men with flashlights were making their way toward her and she was in the middle of the open. "Shit…"

"Liz? Liz!" Alfred called, but Elizabeth was too busy running to answer. Her breath hitched and she almost broke down crying. This was all too much for her. A car squealed past her so she ducked down an alleyway. "Elizabeth I need you to talk to me. I'm in the car. Where are you now? Are you running?"

"Yes," she gasped.

"Where are you running to?" he was so calm and it may have settled her in any other situation.

"I don't know. It's too dark. I'm in an alley."

"Bloody – get out of there!" he yelled.

Liz's throat tightened. "I'm trying," she gasped, turning down a corner and seeing streetlights. "Okay, I'm coming to a street sign," she squinted. "130th and Elmer. Do you know where-" before she could finish that car sped through the intersection and she ducked into the shadows.

"Yes, I know where that is. Stay on the phone with me. Don't run. Is anyone around?"

She took a moment to survey the area, trying to catch her breath. "No," she sighed. "Not yet." She swallowed hard, leaning against a brick wall. "I'm sorry I'm asking you this but Cat was there and she slashed my tires and I'm stuck here and I can't find Bullock or Gordon or Falcone. What a mess, Alfie; what a Godawful mess I'm in."

Alfred ran a light, swerving away from traffic and almost going over the curb. "Falcone?" he repeated, "What the Hell are you involved in right now?"

"I was here for Butch and he said I'd be safe, but I can't find him and it wouldn't matter anyway. He's just one guy and there's a sea of grunts here." She closed her eyes for a second, trying to calm her heartrate. "And Fish is here…" she spoke her thoughts aloud. "Fish is alive. She's alive and she knows my name…" tears welled up again, but her eyes widened.

"She's known your…" suddenly it hit Alfred. All the things she'd mentioned before she left – the secrets she was keeping, the lies. She claimed she'd tell him everything and he'd hoped she was still good for that. Alfred was not a fan of having a liar waltzing about the manor and he was furious that she'd been keeping things from himself and Master Bruce. "Who are you?" he demanded, slowing the car to a stop. Silence. "I've stopped the car. Answer me this  _instant_ , or I'm leaving you there." It was probably a bluff, he assumed. His conscience wouldn't let him leave her but the threat sounded real enough.

Suddenly she was a mess of words and gasps. "I'm so sorry. I'm so, so sorry. I lied about my name, but not much else. Alfie, I wanted to tell you, I really did. Please come. Please," as she begged, she started glancing around the street in hopes of finding Harvey or Jim. Even a passing car at this point would be better than staying there. Alfred's silence startled her into speaking again. "My name's Harleen," she spouted. "I'm a licensed psychologist and I meant no harm to you or to Bruce."

Alfred started driving again, mind racing as he sped through the streets. He needed to save her, if for no other reason than to uncover the truth.

"Right," was all he managed to say to her and the hurt was evident in his voice. "Why you had to up and lie about a thing like that, I'll never understand."

Liz bit her tongue. "Yes, you will." There were footsteps behind her, a few men making their way toward her from the alley. "Well, my friends are back."

"Don't run," he demanded. "I'm close."

"So are they," she started backing up, whispering in hopes they were as dumb as they looked and hadn't seen her yet.

"Don't, Harleen," and for some reason hearing someone say her name – her real name – in a pleading voice made her stop. It'd been ages since that'd happened. Not Jack, not Harvey; no one had said her real name kindly in years. Jack only used it when he was mad at her. Any other time it was a demeaning 'nickname' or a slur.

"They saw me…" she whispered. She backed up more, tentatively raising the gun he'd given her. She didn't want to shoot. "Alfred, they see me!" Trigger finger itching, she took off the safety.

"…So do I."

And like that, tires squealed behind her and a door swung open into her back but she was jumping in the car before the men could reach her.

She didn't reach back for the seatbelt, didn't even try to make eye contact with the man, just dropped the gun, curled her legs to her chest and pulled into herself while letting the tears come.

When the speeding was over and she assumed they were away from danger, she felt Alfred take her phone from her hands, heard it drop in the cup holder, and gathered to courage to glance at the likely condescending look on his face. Only it wasn't there. The man looked absolutely exhausted. His usually kempt hair was messy, no tie hung around his neck just his dress shirt and an unbuttoned coat clothed him. His features looked contemplative.

"So, where shall your story start?" he questioned. "Don't think I'm giving you 'till the morning to sneak out and avoid all this." Liz breathed simply. "I've all night. Believe me, I've gone longer without sleep."

And for the third time in her life, she spilled her deepest and darkest to someone. She told him of Jack and the incident with her sister, how he's her patient now, how fearful she was. She explained that most everything he knew about her was true – Martha Wayne  _had_ met her around the time things started going south with Jack. At the time she'd created this ideal version of herself, this Elizabeth Sorkin, and Martha was concerned about the name change when they ran into each other years later.

"I can still remember sitting at the park while Bruce played and I told her about Jack. She was the first person who knew the truth. It wasn't a long conversation, but the family knew my Uncle and I hated the way she looked at me when I introduced myself as Elizabeth and not Harleen. So I told her what I was in the middle of. She offered me money to get out and away from him, but I turned it down. If Jack knew I ran off, he'd find a way to learn how I got away. And I couldn't get anyone else involved in him. He's a sick man, Alfred."

"I wish you would have explained this upon our first meeting."

"And then what? Expect you to just understand – a total stranger? Look, Harvey had a hard time finding this out – he still  _is_. I can't lose more people in this life. I walked away from twenty-some years of friends when this all started going on. I built this new life from the ground up and I really don't wanna have to tear it all down again because of a simple name change."

Alfred paused. "Why were you crying?" he nodded toward the seat, referencing the breakdown she had as soon as she got in the car.

Liz bit her tongue. Judging by their surroundings they were close to the manor. "Jack was shady. He got mixed up in some rough crowds and things got pretty scary sometimes."

"This wasn't your first gun show, I take it?" he pulled up to the gate, typed in the keypad and the gates opened.

"No."

"So this was a little too close to home tonight, then?"

"Yes."

Alfred didn't need to say any more. He'd known that feeling. The attack on the manor was too close to the battlefield, as was his stabbing with Reggie. Sometimes there are moments that bring things too close to poor memories. He suddenly had a new understanding for Harleen – Ms. Sorkin.

He parked the car and shut the thing off then turned toward her. "Master Bruce won't mind you staying, but I believe it's a mistake to tell him everything that's been revealed tonight."

She was silent for a beat. "I understand if you want to tell him. I understand if you want me to leave for good." She didn't want to stay away from the boy, but she knew it was a possibility. "You need to worry about his well-being and as many promises as I can make, it still doesn't cover up the fact that I've been hiding things from you. Or that I've killed."

Alfred hummed. "Bruce is living with a killer, now, innt he? And he, himself, isn't exactly clean-handed either."

"So he told you about that," she nodded solemnly. The air stilled. "I know about Reggie because I was there that night." Silence often made Liz word vomit. "He called, said he needed a favor, I picked him up, Cat was there, and it was only after I'd agreed that I found out what their plan was. We never meant to hurt anyone. I went there to protect them. But Cat pushed Reggie and…"

Alfred bit his tongue, looking away for a moment. "You were there." It was sinking in. "You know, Ms. Sorkin, violence and you go hand-in-hand." He exited the car, slamming the door before Liz could get out.

"Alfred," she got out too, grabbing her phone before slamming the door. "I'm sorry. But I kept him safe. He would have-"

"I know," Alfred interrupted, holding up his hand. "He would've gone anyway with or without you. And they likely would have gotten hurt. And Selina would have taken him God knows where and the police would be involved in his disappearance…" he sighed. "It's better that you were there. However, I will be keeping my eye on you. Don't make me regret keeping you here." Chills ran through her. Alfred could be frightening. He stepped closer to her. "I have faith in you and I appreciate your honesty. You're good for the boy. I've always liked you, Liz, but I need to do what's right for this household. And if that means you're fired, so be it."

Elizabeth swallowed hard. "I understand."

"Good." He straightened, grabbed his keys. "Now, I assume your sleeping arrangements will not be the same as your last little visit here." He tried to hold back a grin, reminded of her skin and scent and the feeling of a body next to him in bed. "I'll show you to your quarters."

Elizabeth looked down at the phone in her hand, then back at the car which still had a loaded gun on the floor mat. The adrenaline and memories coursing through her were almost too much and she probably would have run if the night hadn't exhausted her like it did.

Instead, she swallowed her fear and made her way into the manor; no longer burdened by secrets and fibs. Perhaps she could stay in Gotham and ride out this life.

She'd decide in the morning.


	31. Chapter 31

Just when Harvey was finishing up paperwork and eyeing the bloodied mess that was his partner, he got the call: Liz. Safe, showered, patched up, at Wayne Manor. Of course he had to hear it from her that this never would'a happened if his phone hadn't died.

Sleep was in order. But it just wouldn't come. So he spent the rest of the morning watching crappy shows and considering quitting the force. After everything with Falcone and Maroni and Penguin he could use a vacation. Retirement. Tropical Island – the whole bit. Cap gave him off for the next few days but he didn't think it'd help him get his head on straight or his sleep back to semi-normal. She gave Liz off too, which he hoped would help. So he took to the bottle and thought up what Liz would say if she were there instead of at Arkham. He wanted her to take more time off there after everything had happened, but her boss was not having it. He still wanted her to quit and tell Strange to shove it, but she wouldn't.

Two hours. She was due home two hours ago. The detective gave her two  _fucking_ hours to get her ass home. At first, he thought it was some kind of ploy; some type of dirty game to make him  _want_ her more – blue balls or some shit. They both knew he was off work and, well, that's what their plan usually was when they were both home. But, no. She wasn't answering her phone, and she was never that cruel with him. It wasn't going straight to voicemail, meaning it wasn't off, and he couldn't imagine her sitting in her office listening to it ring. Twelve phone calls. This couldn't be a game.

Maybe he was overreacting and maybe he shouldn't have bothered getting in the car and driving to Arkham, but he did. It was getting dark now and he forgot how eerie the place looked with just the lampposts illuminating it.

Her car was still in its parking spot.

Pushing through the glass doors, Harvey narrowed his eyes at the number of workers in the lobby. Eyeing around, he searched for Liz.

"Oh, Detective! You got our call," one of the women approached him.

"Wha-?"

There was so much noise in one room and of course it was one of the worst acoustic spaces  _ever._ And then came the  _sirens._ Turning, he watched three ambulances pull up, two cop cars…

"Thank God you brought backup," one woman mentioned, placing a hand on Harvey's shoulder.

"What happened?" he demanded, wanting to either vomit or punch something.

"Move!" a paramedic yelled, wheeling in a gurney while others followed. The Arkham staff members scattered – all but two – no one to answer his questions. He tried to follow some of them, screaming after them to answer him, grabbing at the shoulders of the paramedics as they ran by only to be shoved off.

"Harvey," came another voice but this one he recognized. Jim. "What are you doing here? Go home."

"Why are you here? You're not supposed to be working. What the  _fuck_  is going on?" he could feel his ears reddening from his rage.

Jim sighed, recognizing that his partner wouldn't leave unless he knew. "There's been a breakout."  _Don't say it…_  "Jack Napier."

Harvey's ears started ringing and it overpowered everything. Jim's lips were moving and there was commotion – nurses passing, the gurney taking a bloodied man away, paramedics cleaning wounds of patients, people with a body bag – but nothing reached him.

The long hallway was filled with bodies, the typically locked door propped opened for paramedics to push through, and Harvey maneuvered by. Ear ringing slowly decrescendoing, he heard his own heavy footfalls as he reached Lizzy's office. Closed. Locked. Lights off.

Slamming his hand against the door, he closed his fist and tried to steady his breathing. Too much had happened in the last two days. Too many bodies and too much blood. Jim approached, eyes narrowed, clearly beginning to put together the situation.

"Where's Ms. Sorkin?" Harvey growled at a passing Arkham staff member.

"Oh? She left a few hours ago," and the woman scurried down the hall.

"God  _damn it!_ " Harvey let his anger come to a head. "Mother _fucker_! Sonuvabitch!" Expletives flowed from his mouth as his partner tried to silence him.

"Damn it, Harvey, stop! Tell me what's going on." He had him by the collar, pushed up against the wall.

"What's going on?" Harvey shrugged him off. "What's going on is that Lizzy hasn't been home. Won't answer her phone. Her car's still here. Napier, man. Napier fucking took my girl!" he slammed his fist against her office door, then pulled back in pain and stared at the torn skin on his knuckle.

"Okay. Enough. Calm down."

Harvey crouched down, holding his head, staring at the floor. It couldn't be happening. It couldn't be it. She was gone.  _Gone._ He felt pressure in his chest, a burning in his lungs that was moving to his trachea. Jim placed a hand on his shoulder and he surprisingly didn't move away from the contact. His partner told him to breathe.

"He's got her," he huffed out, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"How do you know?"

"I  _know_." Rising to his feet, he straightened his jacket, raising his eyes to his partner. "We've got work to do." Yes, he was exhausted. Yes, it had been nearly 22 hours since he'd last slept. That didn't matter.

They went to check her car, see if there was any sign of a purse of phone – any sign that she'd reached her car and perhaps back-tracked to the building. Nothing. As if she never even made it to the thing.

So they went back to the faculty to ask them about the situation, dodging news crews and reporters. Jack was released to her as of 1:30 that afternoon. He was returned to his cell around 2:15 and Lizzy's shift ended at 2:30. Lunch was served at 2:30 also, which was when Jack made his move, or so the cafeteria staff informed Jim.

"According to the report, Jack was in line to get his food when he pulled out a piece of metal he'd hidden under his tray. They think he broke it off from a table, which happened to be a trick he pulled at the facility he was at  _before_  he was transported to Arkham," Jim returned to share his new knowledge with Harvey.

"Did he kill anyone at the place before?"

Jim shook his head. "No, but he  _did_ use it to make that big cut in his cheek which pushed the staff there to send him here. Guess that was just a correctional facility and they figured he needed a mental institution." Harvey bit his tongue from spilling the knowledge he had about Jack. Lizzy told him some pretty fucked up things and he was sure it was just the tip of the iceberg. While Harvey brooded Jim questioned the security guard about cameras and wound up slapping his hands on the desk, bringing Harvey back to the present. "Those cameras have been down since I worked here. What gives?"

The guard didn't have a good answer, just gave him access to the videos from the functioning cameras. Only one was outside.

But that didn't matter. The footage from the cafeteria clearly showed the situation the faculty explained: Jack pulling the jagged piece of metal out from under his lunch tray, reaching over the counter to slit one man's throat, taking out the security guard on duty, and then injuring a few patients. Harvey's stomach churned as he watched one guard lying in a pool of his own blood, grasping at the gash in his neck as if his fingers would close up the gaping hole.

Jim paused the footage while he scanned the other cameras in the hallway Jack entered at the time. When he found it, the footage played, following down the hall to Lizzy's office. Harvey watched intently as the jackass pounded on the locked door. Absentmindedly he clasped his fists, reminded that his hands were recently where this murderer's had been. Next, the camera showed Jack bolting for a door and Jim had to rewind the footage just so he could find where it led: outside.

The only outdoor camera's angle showed the corner of the opening door as Jack sprinted out. The line of sight followed along the stone wall and  _just_ grazed the path of the front entrance – not enough to see detail, but enough for Harvey to catch a glimpse.

"Go back," he instructed. Jim did. And they both leaned closer, watching Jack race to the front of the building and grab a woman around the waist, raising his hand to her mouth as she struggled.

Jim paused it, running a hand down his chin, shortly raising his eyes to the older man's.

"Harvey…" but before he could continue, Harvey was at his feet, turning his back to the monitor and digging his fingers in his hair, pacing, cussing. "You need to be rational here." Jim was on his feet too, hand raised, fingers splayed out in a 'stop' gesture.

It took some coaxing, but Jim managed to get Harvey to have a seat and finish watching what they could see from the video. Lizzy was dragged – hand over her mouth – toward the entrance gate where he grabbed her badge from her shirt, extended it to the scanner, and watched as the gates opened.

"How did he get out? Aren't there supposed to be guards there?" Harvey demanded. He  _knew_  they were there –they were the ones that were  _always_  there and some were armed.

The guard shrugged. "Must've had some kinda know-how. Probably other patients. Some rooms have a view of the front ground. We change guards for lunch break every day at the same time."

Harvey felt like he was going to be sick.

While Jim called Cap, Harvey paced the surrounding area – past the gates and the guards. Alone, he considered grabbing his hip flask. Alcohol would help calm his nerves just enough, but he needed to be sharp.

When Jim caught up to him again, he spoke on how worried Essen was, how many units they were going to try to get on this, but how few leads they had. Where Jack had gone was a mystery and Essen couldn't send units out just to scour the streets, but Harvey begged to differ.

"Arguing with Essen would be a waste of precious time now, Bullock. We need to get going. Get out there. Where would he take her? Where would they go?"

And Harvey's sick feeling returned. He hadn't talked to Liz, really, in days. Had something sparked any weird vibes from Jack? Had something happened?

"She keeps a log of all her patients and their progress," Harvey spoke quickly. "That's a start at least."

Jim nodded stiffly and the two of them charged into her office. They dug and if she ever got out of this alive, she'd scold the two of them for how badly they'd destroyed her desk. But they found it. An entry from today for two patients she never spoke about, and then one for Jack.

Harvey narrowed his eyes, realizing how badly he needed his glasses at the moment.

"The Bowery?" Jim questioned. "She ever talk about the Bowery?"

Harvey paused, reminded of a tipsy night months ago when they sat on the couch, Liz's legs in his lap, naked thighs peeking out from under Harvey's dress shirt, drink in her hand. A time she'd mentioned a house in the Bowery – a house she'd been forced to stay at one summer through college when she couldn't afford anywhere else and her parent's names were still on the title to the house. They'd lived there when the neighborhood wasn't terrible. And then no one wanted to buy the place so they simply walked away.

"Yeah. She couldn't afford rent one summer in college so she stayed there for a few months."

"Shitty neighborhood," Jim grunted, turning his attention back to the short note. "Says, 'Jack mentioned Merle again and the way he describes it I can't help but wonder if he's been there'. Harvey, isn't Merle a street out there?"

Harvey honestly hadn't been in the area in ages, but the street sounded familiar and he knew there was a map in the car. "Take the journal. I'll drive." And the two of them sprinted out of Arkham.

Harvey put the siren light on which helped, but he couldn't get the thought out of his mind that she might be dead already. And then what? Where would  _he_  be?

"We'll get her, Harvey." Jim could almost sense Harvey's terror but the older detective didn't acknowledge his comment. "Do you know the address?"

"What? No. Never came up." Harvey snapped.

Jim's eyes widened. "What were her parent's names? I could get Ed to…"

"There's no time!" not to mention Harvey knew if they searched Mr. and Mrs. Sorkin they'd come up empty. Those people didn't exist. Liz didn't exist. It was all a rouse. And how would he explain that to Jim? It hit him then: "She said it had a blue eagle on the pillar of the porch. Baby blue. Said it was the ugliest thing she'd ever seen."

Jim nodded and kept his eyes peeled as they turned down Merle. And boy, was that a shitty neighborhood. The houses looked abandoned, there were groups of kids on the streets staring at the two of them, druggies wandering about. And then a white chipping house with burns on the second story's siding and a baby blue eagle on the front porch.

"There, that's it." Jim pointed and Harvey screeched the car to a stop across the street, shut it off and the two of them exited, guns drawn. Jim glanced at Harvey, but he was so focused it was unnerving.

The deadbolt on the door was shot out already and Jim was about to knock it down when they realized it wasn't locked. Harvey stepped in first and the sight before him wrecked his stomach and pulled at his heart. Liz was there, tied up, bloody, helpless. Cuts on her wrists and chest. She was alone, silent, and it was too dark to tell if she was breathing. And he wanted to call out to her so badly, to make sure that the worst hadn't happened. He was about to when Jim stepped up, aiming the gun up the stairs and shooting.

A body toppled down toward them and it matched the description of one of the douchebags that mugged Liz in the alley. One of Jack's friends. Ian. Which meant Will wasn't far behind. The door slammed behind them and someone tackled Harvey to the ground. He started whaling on him until Jim shoved him off. Harvey turned, shot the guy right in the neck, and watched the blood splatter all over the dirty walls.

And right when Harvey thought they were in the clear, they heard clapping and then a scream. Both detectives stood then, raising their guns at the culprit. Jack. Knife pressed to Lizzy's neck, cackling. Harvey was relieved she was alive at least.

"Now, now, put the guns down…" he droned, shaking his head. When they didn't, he put more pressure on her throat and Harvey saw some blood leak out. "NOW."

Jim and Harvey did as they were told, frustrating as it was.

"Now, which one 'a you is she fucking? Hm?" he laughed again, pulling the knife away to swing it around. "You seem like more her type…young, strapping." He nodded at Jim. "But  _you_ …" a pause. "Well if she was trying to hide – and she  _was_ – you'd be the least likely candidate, now wouldn't you?" he narrowed his eyes on Harvey and he could almost feel Jim's burning questions. Not to mention the ache that settled inside of him. For caring so much for this woman. For getting attached. For wondering if she  _was_ using him as a cover this whole time. Was this all a game?

"Quit playing head games, Jack. Let her go." Jim spoke first.

"Ah, see, I can't do that because if I  _did_  she'd miss all the fun." He reached in his pocket and pulled out a detonator. "And we wouldn't want that, now would we?"

"Oh shit." Harvey breathed, fingers twitching. They were at a stand-still. "Jim!"

But the white knight was already lunging at Jack, twisting his arm before tossing the detonator to the other side of the room. Harvey was quick to get to Liz, but it seemed that in the scuffle Jack had twisted the blade toward Liz's neck and cut a single slice. Seeing the blood made him go pale, but he heard Jim struggling with Jack and knew now was the time to go.

"Go, Harvey. Now!" Jim called from behind him. Scooping Liz in his arms, he stood at full height, back aching but pushing himself forward. Jack grabbed his ankle and he toppled forward just before reaching the door. Liz's breath caught as she hit the ground hard on her back, but she gained footing faster than Harvey did.

And then there was a knife piercing Harvey's shoulder and he was in so much damn pain and so exhausted he was convinced he wouldn't make it outta this. Not when Jack started whaling on him and choking him out, not when Jim  _just_ missed the chance to grab the detonator, and not when Liz stood over him, tackling Jack just before Harvey passed out. The breath hitched in his throat as he pulled the knife wound when he sat upright and watched Jack grab Liz by the bleeding neck.

"Harleen," he hissed. "You  _stupid_ fucking whore…" Jack was out of breath now too and right when Jim stepped forward, Jack tossed that knife into his gut like he was a carnival act. "You've had this coming for years."

Harvey didn't think he could make it, but he reached for the gun instead of the detonator and came up short, vision blurring, body working against him. At the sound, Jack grabbed the detonator and held it above her.

"Fuck you," she seethed, staring him dead in the eye before he sent one punch to her head and knocked her out.

"A long. Time. Coming." He reiterated then dodged Jim's fists and scurried out the back door.

"Harvey, he's got that bomb somewhere in here." Jim huffed. "Harvey." To which he nodded, feeling stiff and aching. "Harvey, we gotta go."

And Jim was the white knight who picked his girl up and ran her out of the house, no doubt his knife wound seeping something awful while Harvey barely managed to stumble down the front steps and make it across the street before the bomb went off.

Jim drove Harvey's car. Not that he offered it, no. He just knew that Harvey needed to be in that backseat, bleeding through his torn up leather jacket, pressing his fat fingers to her neck wound and watching that purple bruise start to form on her temple. Liz wasn't coming to and that scared Harvey something awful.

The rest of the night was a blur. Doctors, nurses, stitches for the whole gang, pain meds. All of this didn't matter. He just kept asking them a string of questions: 'is she gonna be alright?', 'can I see her?', 'is she awake?'

Jim called Alfred to tell him what happened and this just made matters worse. Before long Alfred and Bruce were both sitting in that waiting room, a bouquet of flowers held between Bruce's hands, eyes hollow, mouth a hard line.

"This city's a damn mess," Alfred spoke, eyeing over at Bullock for a moment. He looked like Hell. Bruises, cuts, the whole bit. He couldn't imagine what Liz looked like.

And yeah she lied to them and Alfred was worried about her history, but this was the damn man she'd been running from and he needed to know if she was safe.

"Just another crazy fucker," Harvey let slip but closed his mouth as soon as he remembered Bruce was there.

"Did you get him?" Alfred asked, hopeful. But Harvey just shook his head and looked away.

When a nurse approached, Harvey stood quickly and regretted it instantly. His head spun. It was going on 28 hours since he last slept.

"She's asking for Harvey." The nurse spoke softly. "I can take you."

His heart fluttered at that, recalling Jack's words of how this was all a cover. They were granted a few moments alone before the 'Get Well Soon' brigade would join them. He soon found he was glad for this solitude because as soon as he saw her neck wrapped up, tears formed in his eyes.

"Lizzy," he muttered, approaching slowly. But what should he say? The only thing on his mind was…

"-you weren't a cover," she said weakly. And Harvey was again speechless. She shook her head but flinched at the pain, raising her hand to cup her neck and Harvey got a look at her bandaged wrists too. "Jim's gonna be asking. He called me Harleen," Harvey had missed that in all the commotion. "I take responsibility for it all. I do," she swallowed hard. "But I just want you to know that you're not a cover." Her eyes welled up with tears. "I love you, Harvey."

He could feel his cheeks tingling, could feel his fingers twitching to reach for her and hold her but he didn't want to injure her more.

"I love you too."

And then Jim and Bruce and Alfred walked in and the room was filled with tension and chatter and well-wishes and kisses on her cheek but Harvey wasn't paying much attention. Things were going in a forward direction. Things were okay. She was okay.

"Do you need a safe place to stay? We have homes all over. I'm sure Bruce wouldn't mind if-" Alfred started.

"No, no. I'll be alright. Thank you though. He knows I'll be watched like a hawk for the next week. It won't be now that he strikes."

"You're not going back to work soon, are you?" Bruce pressed. "You can't. It's unsafe."

"She's going to have time off, I'm sure," Jim assured the boy. "Now I think we should go let her rest."

And the three of them started out the door, but Jim gave Harvey one look. One. That read 'we need to talk' and Harvey knew there was no keeping this from him any longer.

Visiting hours came and went and Harvey knew he wouldn't get sleep without her home and safe. God knew where Jack was. And he knew she was injured. He'd be coming for her, Harvey was sure of it. So, yes, Harvey was staking out outside of the hospital because yes, he'd been kicked out for swearing at nurses and doctors and staff. But he did not expect to see Lizzy crossing that parking lot right in front of his car at 3 am.

"Hey," Harvey got out, staring her down in the dark. "What are you doing?" And she jumped, startled, but soon was right before him, wrapping her arms around him and kissing him softly. "You sneaking out?"

"I'm  _not_ sleeping in a hospital," she decided. "Now, take me home."

And he did without hesitation, happy to sleep in a bed beside his girl, sore as his body may be.


	32. Chapter 32

When Elizabeth woke up that next morning, Harvey was just slipping pants on and was out the door before she could ask where he was going. A few hours passed of dreamless sleep before she got up and started her morning. She was achy and sore, but still managed to dress and make a phone call. Coffee. She needed coffee and a pain pill.

When she entered the living room, Harvey was icing the shoulder wound and drinking scotch out of the bottle. Two in the afternoon. His eyes were hollow, jaw clenched, mouth a hard line. She wondered if Jim made him open up.

"Afternoon," Liz croaked out, popping a pain pill and grabbing some coffee.

Harvey raised his eyes to her, blinked slowly, opened his mouth to speak then closed it again. They were silent as he drank another gulp of scotch.

His voice was gruff when he said, "Paperwork's done. On Cap's desk. I quit." Liz slipped into the seat beside him, nervous to even touch him. She could feel the tension in the air.

"And that's what you really want?" she asked softly.

"Yes, it's what I want. This is bullshit! They won't even spend much more time on this case, even though you work for us. I'm given no more units or manpower. Between this and the mob thing? No. Too much. I ain't staying in a place that refuses to protect my girl."

Liz let out a giggle after a few minutes of silence. Harvey raised a brow at her, lifting the bottle to his lips. "We're both jobless scumbags now, aren't we?" he almost choked. "I quit this morning too."

"Arkham?" he asked to which she nodded. "And what about Bruce?"

A shrug, "Alfred wanted to know what was happening the night he picked me up from that mob issue – go figure. So I told him."

"You  _told_ him?"

Another nod. "He asked. I answered. 'Sides, it's nothin' he couldn't have found out anyway. If he really wanted to dig?" she shrugged. "So now he said he's giving us both some time off. Said Bruce was digging into his father's past again and they needed some privacy in their life." The temporary time off couldn't have come at a worse time, of course. But she could not go back to Arkham. Judging by the fact that they came to visit at the hospital last night, she was sure Alfred wasn't super pissed off at her. At least she assumed. So maybe she'd go back to GCPD…

The dark look in Harvey's eyes didn't leave for a few more hours. He'd asked a lot of questions about Jack – ones Liz wasn't yet ready to answer but she gave him her best responses. And he'd had to tell Jim everything. He said he pushed Jim up against a locker and screamed bloody murder until Jim promised to keep quiet 'for once in his life'. That was after Jim did her a favor and dropped off her car from where it sat at Arkham still. But Liz could see a change in Harvey. Something brooding and ugly was building up in Bullock and a part of her liked it. A part of her felt like it was about time.

Hours later, one quiet knock at the door raised Liz's suspicions. Harvey was in the shower, taking his sweet time as per usual. He'd told her not to answer the door if he wasn't there, but Liz knew that if it  _were_ Jack he wouldn't be knocking. So she cracked the door open and saw Selina leaned against the brick wall.

"Cat, what are you doing here?" she whispered, still a little agitated with the girl over the last time they saw each other – when she slashed her tires.

"We got business," her voice hung in the air as she slipped herself between Liz and the doorframe. "The old man home?"

Elizabeth gave her a motherly warning look as she closed the door. "Yes, he is."

Cat eyed around the apartment, nodding slowly. "Well, I'll try to make this quick then. Butch asked me for a favor." Liz let her continue. "Asked me to come down here and get you. You got a meeting tonight."

"Beg pardon?"

Cat rolled her eyes. "A little pow-wow between you and this guy Tom."

"Tom…?"

"He's somebody that knows about you. Knows what you did." Cat grabbed a potato chip bag from on top of the fridge and started eating. "And so do I." Liz's heart sank. "Heard about that little kidnapping. Had the entire underground talking: inmate escapes and captures his psychologist? Good stuff." She reached in the fridge and grabbed a bottle of water. "But then I found out that you aren't so innocent after all."

"Cat, let me stop you there. I-"

"No need," she raised her hand. "I know you killed that guy. Maroni's man? The one Penguin was after. Thought I saw your car there that night. I asked Butch and he can't lie to me."

Liz tried to remain calm, but her mind was racing. "So this…Tom…wants me for what reason?"

Cat shrugged. "Beats me. All I know is Butch told me to get you. Tom's pretty cool, don't be worried. I'm taking you to him."

"Taking her to who?" came a voice – Harvey's voice.

Selina turned around to face him, but quickly looked away and made a disgusted face. "Put some clothes on.  _Ew!_ "

Harvey stood shirtless; wife beater in his hand, plaid pajama pants hanging low on his hips. Liz let her eyes trail over his exposed skin for a moment, taking in his dusting of chest hair and the belly. Bruises adorned his body from all of the violence lately, but Liz still thought he looked handsome. He begrudgingly put the shirt on, but repeated his question.

"Lizzy has a meeting with a friend 'a mine," Selina said, tossing the chip bag on the table. "Clock's ticking."

"I'm going, Harvey," she decided aloud.

"Me too then." That dark look was back again.

"Nope. Just her," Cat said calmly, looking at her nails while leaned against the doorframe.

Harvey was about to protest, but he saw the pleading look in Liz's eyes. "God, woman…" he groaned. "If I don't hear from you in an hour, I'm coming after you."

She nodded, smiling softly. "I just need some answers. Butch set this up for me." Pecking him on the lips, she grabbed her keys then jogged after Cat. Harvey closed the door, grumbling before throwing himself on the couch and trying not to stare at the clock.

"Ya got them fixed?" Cat pointed at the tires when they reached her car.

"Yeah, no thanks to you. You have any idea how expensive that gets?" she raised her voice slightly but shook it off.

"Just two blocks down. Next light make a right," Cat instructed from the passenger seat after a few minutes of driving. Elizabeth hadn't ever been down the roads she was driving through. When Cat pointed at a dark, almost empty parking lot beside a flickering nightclub sign, she swallowed hard. "You nervous?"

"Just…what's this about?" After parking, she followed her out of the car, locking it then pocketing her keys. "Cat…"

They entered the nightclub together. Cat had clearly been there before, judging by the way she weaved through the place easily. Elizabeth suddenly wished she'd brought a gun or knife. But when she saw the big burly guy blocking a doorway, she wanted to shrink away. The way he was glaring at Cat, however, forced her to put on a tough front.

"C'mon, you know what I'm here for," Cat nodded over to Liz who stood silent – mouth a hard line.

"Richie…" came a deep voice. "She's good." Just as the unknown man's voice boomed, Richie moved aside. "Cat, glad you could make it. Who did you bring me?" The accent was definitely Scottish and Liz couldn't help but stare at the man. He was intriguing. Scars in a half smile on either side of his mouth, silver hair, hard features. "Ah, there she is. Sight for sore eyes." He stood and took two heavy steps toward her. The man towered over Liz.

"Tom, be nice," Cat suggested.

"Me? I'm always nice," he raised an eyebrow at the young girl. "I suggest you tell her the same." A deep chuckle followed his accented voice. Extending his hand, he bowed his head slightly. Liz let his large hand envelope hers before he pulled it to his lips. "Elizabeth. My, the things I've heard. Please, Cat, leave us."

Liz's stomach flipped. As Cat left, so did the large body guard – Richie – leaving the two of them alone. The nightclub was grimy, dark, tinged with the scent of cigarettes, and empty.

"I'm sorry, do we know each other?" Liz took a seat as Tom did the same.

"Ah, no, Harley. No." Tom chuckled – even harder as her eyes widened. "What? Didn't think anyone was aware? As I said – the things I've heard." Liz held her breath. "You're not that popular that I'd want to dig into your past, doll. Trust me, I'm a busy man. No, I was told by a…mutual friend." He took a drink of the beer sitting in front of him, but didn't offer her anything. "Jack Napier." Liz rose to her feet then, heard the screeching of the chair against the tile floor. Butch must have gone shady – must have turned her in. She was leaving –  _now –_ before things got violent again. "No need for that, love. M'not 'ere to hurt ya. Let's chat. Get to know each other." He paused. "Look, Jack did enough to ya, didn't 'e?" Liz felt his eyes tracing over the wound on her neck.

"What do you want from me?"

He raised an eyebrow, lowering his chin. "Butch asked me to do a favor an' I  _owe him_ a favor. So, 'ere we are." He splayed his fingers out in front of him. "So, last night Jack showed up on my doorstep. Here. Get wind that this lowlife sitting in my club with a similar scar on his face is a wanted criminal. So, I chat with him. Tell him I'm a bounty hunter – whatever he wanted to hear. And. He. Spilled.  _All_. Spoke a lot about you."

Liz sank back down in her seat, mouth a hard line. Tom reached to his left, stretching to grab something from off the bar without losing eye contact with Liz. A bottle slammed down on the table between then before he reached again to grab a glass for her. She broke her stare from him to glance at the label then back at him. Silently, he poured the alcohol then slid the glass across the table for her.

"So he told you my name," it wasn't a question, she knew the answer.

A small smirk met his face. "A'course he did. All the while Jim Gordon's face is plastered across every TV screen in here; pleading with the citizens t' be vigilant." She took a drink and identified it as Bourbon. "Jack made it clear t' me he's obsessed with you."

Liz couldn't help but roll her eyes. "Considering he cut his face just to get him put in Arkham, I'd say so."

"An' ya work there, right? S'why you were there when he took ya," he ran a hand down his facial hair, putting it all together. "Not too long after he was 'ere, I get a visit from good 'ol Butch. Tells me a nice story – a story about you." He took a moment to finish his beer. "By now, I'm gettin'  _real_  irritated. What  _is it_ with you? Some sweet, petite thing like you. Why is everyone so invested?" he leaned forward, pressing his elbows against the table. "But I get it now. You're getting away with it."

"With what?" Liz raised her drink to her lips again.

"Normalcy. You're fitting in. Fucked up past, psyche's probably a royal  _mess_ , killing people…but working a big girl job and dating and  _sane_."

"First of all, ' _people'_? Person. I've killed one. Secondly, I  _am_ sane, thank you. Dark past, sure, but I've only got a dark present because  _he followed me here_."

Tom held up a hand, shaking his head. "Tsk, tsk, tsk. Harls…"

"- _Lizzy_ ," she corrected.

"-Lizzy," he acknowledged. "No need to get so feisty, though I like it." He leaned back in his seat. "I'm here to help."

"I'm listening."

Again, Tom had a half smile on his face. "Butch asked for the favor and after meeting you, I  _like_ you. So, I'm willing to offer you…protection." He considered his words wisely, Liz noticed. She raised an eyebrow at him. "No cost to you, I assure ya."

They sat silent a few beats. Liz sipped on her drink and watched him peel at the label on his beer bottle. Finally, she spoke, "What'd he do to you?"

There was another long pause as Tom considered her. No words were spoken as he shifted, fiddling with his button up shirt to pull the shoulder down and reveal a healing stab wound between his shoulder and collarbone. It was uncovered and Liz could tell Jack had twisted the knife.

"Told the fucker to get out, so he did this to me. Got in a bit of a scuffle, broke a few tables between the two 'a us. But boy, did he run."

Liz bit her lip, nodding slowly. When Tom righted himself again, she sighed. "Revenge is a motivator."

He laughed boisterously. "That it is." Liz felt a little relieved, if she were honest. Having Butch looking out for her got her in contact with Tom who would do the same. In her past, Jack cut out everyone but himself – friends, family – everyone. Harvey let her navigate these avenues which she appreciated more than he knew.

"So I get your protection in exchange for what?"

"Smart girl," he cooed. "Normally, it'd be an expense. But I owe Gilzean a favor an' I need  _you_  to complete this job. Information, mostly. But I may need your services time an' time again."

" _Services?_ "

"I call you, you come with me on jobs with the big guys. It's sort of an…easy on the eyes thing. The bigwigs are more relaxed when you're with a pretty gal." He leaned in. "Think it has somethin' to do with them thinkin' I'mma softie; that I  _won't_ kill in the presence of a lady."

A smile spread across her face. Sure, she said she'd moved on from the old lifestyle but this felt like home.

"And why should I go with you and not Butch?"

"Strike a hard bargain. I like that," he nodded, impressed. "Well, for one, Butch isn't in charge. And Penguin doesn't have your best interests at heart. He's climbing to the top, so he thinks. Me? This. This is what I  _do_."

Liz paused, considering his suggestion. "Alright. Deal."

"Don't have to ask the Mister first?"

Liz stopped, considering this. "After yesterday, I think he'll understand-"

"Boss!" someone shouted and there was the sound of shuffling feet. "Boss, we found this fucker scouting around outside."

Liz sighed at the sight of Harvey, arms behind his back, no doubt pulling at the stitches from his knife wound.

"He's with me," Liz admitted and watched, thankful, as Tom motioned for them to let him go.

"I follow ya here," Harvey huffed. "And good thing I did, 'cause these guys," he pointed at the men who were leaving the room. "What's going on here?"

"Jim Gordon's partner," Liz informed Tom. "My boyfriend. Harvey, this is Tom."

The two men shook hands even though Harvey looked like he might blow a gasket.

"Friend of Liz's is a friend 'a mine," Tom spoke. "Actually, your girl and I were just striking a deal." He narrowed his eyes. "Unless…"

Liz stood, "Harvey, he's offered protection. And now that you quit."

"Ex-cop?" Tom interrupted. "Well then, that just sweetens the pot."

Harvey narrowed his eyes at her. "You can't get involved in these people. You can't."

"Why not? GCPD doesn't give a shit apparently. I work for them, for fuck's sake!" Liz drew closer. "If this is the favor I do to get Jack…"

"He wants Jack?" Harvey asked quietly, gears turning. Tom smiled at him when he looked over. And again, Harvey struggled between the  _right_  thing and the thing he  _actually_  did. "You want Jack, dead?" he approached Tom slowly.

"Quite honestly, it's on the top of my list of things to do." Harvey narrowed his eyes. "And I'm gonna make the assumption that's the case for you as well. Not the same reasons, of course. He didn't fuck up my girl. Just tried to destroy my bar." Harvey was putting things together. "You could use my help."

And Harvey bit the inside of his cheek, trying to stop himself from the temptation. Jim had gone darkside before. He had, too. But lately he was playing by the book. With GCPD not giving a fuck and with his constant fear about Liz's safety, something needed to change. And he was willing to go  _dark_  again. To do the wrong thing so he could do the right thing.

And so the two of them sat for hours, swapping stories, joking, laughing. It was like they were old drinking buddies. They created a plan, a cover. Harvey would bartend – which he'd done a few months in his 20s but not since. And he and Tom would work together to get Jack. They knew he was smart and shady. Hell, someone had created that bomb in the house so he either had good contacts or knew his stuff. Harvey assumed the latter, judging by the stories Liz told him.

Time away from Jim and time away from GCPD would help clear Harvey's head. He knew this wasn't right, not by any means, but he was willing to take whatever steps necessary to keep his woman safe.

And, damn, the thank-you sex was  _great_ …


	33. Chapter 33

"This is gonna be impossible!" Harvey groaned as Lizzy entered the apartment. "What all did you bring me?"

"I told you: you'll need to study to get this right. What if someone asks you to make a Tequila Sunrise?"

"Then I tell them to get out of the bar."

She narrowed her eyes, shoulders slouching for a moment before hoisting the books on the table. "I just brought some study material, okay? Maybe it'll help."

And so it began. Harvey started reading and memorizing mixed drinks and Lizzy made a game out of it: slowly removing an article of clothing with each correct concoction he could spout out. And each wrong one, she put clothes back on.

"Tequila, triple sec, and limes." Harvey spoke, rubbing his temples, book open on Lizzy's bare thighs. He opened one eye to watch her reach for the clasp of her bra, dropping it to the floor with a devious smirk. "You're seriously gonna make me keep doing this?" he was staring now, biting his lower lip. This had been the fifth time Lizzy had removed the bra only to put it back on when Harvey flubbed up another drink mix. "I can't take much more…" His leg bounced, gaze still on Lizzy sitting there in just a pair of lace panties.

She bit her lower lip. "M'sorry, Harvey, but you've almost got it." She set the book down and crawled over to him, hoisting herself off the floor and into his lap. So he kissed her roughly, eased his hands up her arms, back down her shoulders, and ghosted his fingers over her nipples. "Make me a drink," she whispered between kisses. And who was he to say no?

She didn't have much in the way of liquor, so a majority of the drink mixes were a no-go. She did, however, have orange juice, cranberry juice, and vodka, and Harvey managed a couple of Madras cocktails for them. When he turned to present the drinks, she was still topless, but now her panties were miraculously gone as well. Harvey almost dropped the drinks.

He wasted no time leaving them on the counter, but heaving her beside them. Hurriedly he fumbled with his belt while she struggled to unbutton his shirt. Her hands ran down to undo his pants while he felt between her legs, noting how wet she already was for him. As soon as she pulled his length out, he pushed himself between her thighs.

"Oh, hallelujah," he breathed. She giggled at this. "Hey, it's not funny," he grunted. "You were startin' to make this  _painful_ , kid…"

She bit his lower lip then kissed him deep. "M'sorry, Harvey. Wasn't my intention."

"Suuure."

* * *

"You ready?" Tom was there bright and early, tumbler of coffee in hand. He was surprisingly normal for being a criminal, Harvey thought. "You're new so you could get one of two scenarios. One, they shun ya. Two, they open up like yer their shrink."

"And I pick their brain for details on Jack," Harvey mentioned, knowing their plan.

Tom nodded, sipping his coffee. "Right. Got somethin' on that, by the way." Few grunts walked by them as Harvey grabbed a couple mugs. When they passed, Tom continued. "Buddy 'a mine keeps an eye out on a few shops, opposite side 'a town. Fieldstone area. Apparently our pal Jack did a bit of B&E last night."

Harvey hadn't talked to Jim in a few days and he knew that tie was cut so he wouldn't get the details from the boy wonder. This was fine. Right now, he was meant to take down Jack. That was it. And at least he'd get a paycheck from the bar and (hopefully) a few tips from this whole ordeal. Did he miss putting on the badge in the morning? Yes. But he was sleeping more lately. Staying asleep at night, sleeping later into the morning. This could work for him. He felt a lot more relaxed.

"So what are we aiming at?"

Tom looked around as a few customers entered the bar. "I'm actually calling on your girl today. She's meeting me at 2 to…talk…with some of the staff."

"Why…?" Harvey narrowed his eyes.

"My buddy told me that Jack killed everyone in sight, minus a few store workers who the security tapes show him speaking with. They weren't harmed at all. Seems fishy."

Two customers came up and ordered a few drinks and Tom disappeared before Harvey could ask any more questions.

When Liz got a call from Tom, she was nervous and excited. He'd told her to wear something sexy, which put her off a little, but she remembered she was supposed to be arm candy. She finished up her paperwork, held one more meeting with Essen to speak with her about the progress Officer Utrup was making, and drove back to her apartment.

The dress she wore was a little too short and low cut, but she had to admit she looked good. Adding a few accessories, she waited for the long honk to sound outside of her window. Tom said it was unsafe to have her drive there herself. He'd mentioned it was Jack-related and better safe than sorry. Truth be told, Liz was just happy she didn't have to drive in those heels.

"You look absolutely stunning, my dear," Tom kissed her hand. His driver took off shortly after and Liz stared out the window, blinking at how vastly different her life turned in a matter of 48 hours.

When they pulled up to the shop, Tom got out and opened her door for her, extending his arm for her to take. He escorted her to the entrance of the shop, two more men in tow and another one of his cars pulling up behind them. She let Tom do all the talking.

"Hi, there. Mind closing early today?" Tom grinned. His sentence was punctuated with one of the grunts locking the front door.

Tom was suave, that was for sure. But it didn't sway the male staff member. The two were still, sweaty, silent. She wondered if this was what Harvey often encountered when interrogating perps. The entire situation was pretty calm until Tom invited them to join him in the alley out back. And one of his grunts pushed them back. As she followed, she was handed a bat from the driver. Her eyes widened in fear as she looked at him.

"I know you spoke with Jack," Tom cooed to the male worker. "And I know he didn't waste the two of you. And he should have." He started rolling his sleeves up. "You start talking or you don't leave."

The female staff member started crying. "He said we'll die if we tell."

"Oh, honey, you're dying either way." At Tom's statement, the girl ran. And a gunshot sounded. The driver held a smoking gun and Liz swallowed hard, reminded of old times. The bat felt heavy in her hands.

And then Tom was being swung at, but no one else moved. The male staff member scuffled with him but soon Tom had him in a headlock.

"This is how you wanna play it? You're just as bad as him."

"Tell us what he said to you and we're on our way." Liz lied. She knew this wasn't going to work.

"You're her, aren't ya? Yeah, I saw your picture on the news." The guy spoke in a tight voice as Tom squeezed. "He told us to look out for you. He's coming after you again."

"Pretty face, ain't she?" Tom spoke to the man, then looked directly at Liz and said, "take a swing."

The guy coughed. "He said you're a slut. Said you're fucking a cop. That scar on your neck from him?"

Liz couldn't stop herself from swinging. She did – once – but hard.

"Ah, tha's a girl!" Tom cheered. "Give him a go again." So twice. Three, four times. Blood was gushing from him, but Liz felt no remorse. She pulled down her dress a bit, fixing her hair then looking around down the alley.

"You're as crazy as they get. All of you psychologists are. You're just as fucked as the rest of us."

"Maybe," Liz pondered this. "Maybe not. But right now I'm not getting paid to listen to your crap about how daddy didn't love you. Now talk or you get more welts, jackass." Silence. So she hit him again. "Jack offered you something last night, what was it? A job. Money. Women." She knew he was in the market for new staff since Jim and Harvey killed the others.

"Everything. He even offered me  _you_." At that, Liz tensed. "I saw you on the news and you're even prettier in person. He offered me you as soon as we got ya. And he plans to."

Tom saw the look on Liz's face and he knew this guy was worth more than a simple bullet in the chest. They could get more out of him. "Take him," Tom told his grunt, letting go of the man. In a moment, they were walking back to the car, another man was taking care of the nameless woman's body, and the guy Liz was beating on was thrown in the trunk.

Tom didn't speak to Liz the ride back to her apartment, but he did pull out his phone and call Harvey. Told him they had a job. Wordlessly, Liz was escorted up to her apartment then left alone to her numbness.

Harvey was surprised that his first day would be so eventful, but he was thankful for the work and overtime. When Tom dragged some scrawny fuck in back, he knew this must be the guy. The one Jack talked to last night. He wiped down the countertop again and closed shop, letting the next bartender step in while he took his leave.

Tom showed Harvey down a few sprawling hallways before they met at the stairs to the basement. "Colin Green. 27 years old. Your girl got a good read on him. Daddy left when he was young, babied by his mother considering he still lives in her basement currently. I've sent some of my men to the house. Things go south, we kill her."

"So why you havin' me…?"

They reached a door at the bottom of the steps. "Jack's giving job offers. In return, money, women, and the opportunity to make merry with  _your_ woman." Harvey's eyes widened and he felt a bit dry-mouthed. "Thought you'd want in on this one as yer first. Gotta start somewhere. No different than interrogation. Starting on a hard one, but, detective, I think you'll do just fine with these motivators."

"I ain't no detective anymore," Harvey corrected him, grabbing the knife he extended. The two entered the room. No turning back now.

"Colin. You ready to talk?' Tom asked, closing the room and the three of them in it. "Because if not…" he handed Harvey an apron and the ex-detective watched his boss put on his own. Quickly, Harvey slipped it on and tied it, no doubt Tom's concern was keeping clothes clean.

"I told you all I know."

"Ah, see, no. You didn't. Where's Jack?" nothing. He nodded at Harvey, allowing the gruff man to send an uppercut at Colin. "Where's Jack?" And every bit of silence, Harvey pummeled the kid. He almost stopped, thinking how young he was, thinking Jim was going to step in any minute and stop him the way he always did at the precinct.

"We have a meeting," the kid finally admitted.

Harvey held back, wiping the blood from his knuckles on the apron. "Where? When?"

"Thursday. Four o'clock. The corner of 85th and Eastbrook."

Tom stepped forward and Harvey almost forgot he was in the room. "And what were you going to be doing for him?"

The kid spit blood on the floor, fiddling with his handcuffs. "Told me where Harls lives. Told me to keep an eye out."

Harvey ditched, asked Tom to finish up, pulled out his phone and made Liz stay on the line with him until he got there. Jack knew where she lived. It was only a matter of time. On his way up the steps, he realized how filthy he felt. Long day, long hours, lots of bloodshed from one  _kid_. Where were his morals? Something was breaking inside of the ex-detective. He was becoming someone harsh and  _not him_.

"You need to get out of here."

"What? No. Harvey," but he was already grabbing clothes for her and packing. "I am not leaving." She tried halting him, calming him down, but he felt outraged and out of control.

"Look, he knows where you live. He sent someone. He-"

"And  _we_ ," she pointed to Harvey's  _whammy drawer_. "-are well-armed."

* * *

Three more days and six more interrogations. Harvey was up to his neck in bloodied bodies and it didn't feel relieving, like he'd hoped. Thursday came and Tom allowed him to tag along for the 'meeting' with that Colin kid. So he was alive. Bloodied and broken, but alive. Standing solo on the corner while Harvey and Tom staked out in waiting for Jack. Liz was working at GCPD today and had dinner with Alfred. Tom hadn't used her for too many more meetings. One non-violent one. Two more non-Jack-related cases just to collect debts. And she didn't mind it. But those Jack-related cases were too much for her. They turned her into someone she never wanted to be again.

"You think he'll show?" Harvey asked.

Tom shrugged. "Can't know. Still surprised the Mrs. didn't want to move once she found out."

Harvey was silent again. He'd found that weird as well. All this time she'd been running, you'd think she'd want to go again. But maybe she was tired…

It all happened so fast – a man approaching Colin, a man who wasn't Jack – and a shooting. Abrupt, and then a car picked him up and he was gone. Tom followed him for a few blocks, but they lost him. And Harvey tried holding in his anger. Really did. But it was getting exhausting tracking a lead that wasn't going anywhere and he was pissed that Jack was ten steps ahead of them at any given moment. How many people had they killed to come up with nothing? How many bodies did they bury? How much blood was on his hands once again?

He was losing sleep. He was breaking.

* * *

"You really won't move?" Harvey was on Liz's heels as soon as she came back from Wayne Manor.

"Hi, nice to see you too, I had a good day thanks." She rolled her eyes, kicking off her shoes and retreating to her room.

"Jack knows we're onto him. Knows we had his guy. He killed him, Liz. He…" Harvey pounded on the closing door and watched her change out of her dress. "You don't seem fazed by all this."

"Look, Jack killed lots of people. Used to burn them in acid in tubs in my backyard. You think I'm happy about this? No. I'm tired of running, Harvey. If he wants to come here and get me, maybe it'll just all be over after."

"Yeah, your life. Your life will be." Harvey snapped. Liz just gave him a look. "Oh, no no no you ain't cool with this. I won't let you be. Bullshit. This is…this is so fucked up, Liz."

Things were changing. They were fighting more and she was growing distant. If she wasn't working, he was, and their free time was taken up by Tom and his plans. No time to watch a ball game and drink beer and eat greasy pizza. No time to snog before their next work shift. Harvey didn't feel like himself, didn't belong in his own skin. This was wrong on so many levels and the nightmares were back: Jack killing them all, the bomb going off in the house and it toppling on all of them, the bodies of the henchmen he'd killed burying him alive. The dreams about the kid he killed were long gone, a distant memory of what felt like a lifetime ago. Now it was replaced with his reality. The bruising on his knuckles and the stains on his shirts. The guests at the bar were starting to see the swollen knuckles and his tips were lessening. Harvey was looking haggard, despite the fact that he'd quit drinking. Few months sober, actually. Partly because he was around alcohol all day, part because he had no time for it, and part because it didn't even  _help_  anymore. It took him at least 6 drinks to feel anything and who had time to shotgun all those? Not him.

The one night they had off together, Tom called them for a meeting. And the two were forcing in a quickie – him working her just as she liked it so she could cum and then he'd follow suit. Not nearly as satisfying as their past romps, but being that intimate with her once again felt relieving. Like the fog he'd been in was shifting. But they were at Tom's shortly after they redressed and Tom was spouting about getting Jack once and for all – with a suggestion of using Liz as bait.

"Absolutely not," Harvey shook his head. "Bad plan. Get a new one. I'm out."

Tom narrowed his eyes. "He thinks he's in charge. Let Liz near, then we strike and get him." They'd been working nonstop and found a few block radius of where Jack was staying. Some apartment in Midtown. But it wasn't enough of a lead for Harvey to go in guns-blazing and risking Liz. Not without the entire GCPD standing behind him. Apparently Tom saw things differently.

"I'll do it." Liz was eager to throw herself into the fire and Harvey was, again, stunned at how simply she put herself into these messes just to get rid of the pest. This had been their lives for the past three months. "If this is what it takes to end the nightmare of the last 9 years of my life then so be it."

The plan was set in motion; pieces falling into place. And Harvey kissed his girl before she exited the car that night. She stroked his beard like it was a simple 'see you after work', and Harvey couldn't help but feel like this was goodbye.


	34. Chapter 34

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well...this is almost it. Don't think this is the end though ;)

Bait. Bait was a funny thing. She'd seen Jack use money and sex to bait women. She'd seen him use daughters of mayors to make deals with. She'd heard stories of Harvey and Jim using people as bait. But she never expected it to be her turn.

There she was – last place she wanted to be – right on a bench outside of Jack's new apartment building. But Tom had said this would work. Tom said he had men on the case and a few guys locked on both of them and she was suddenly hyperaware that she should  _not_  be trusting Tom with her life.

Working on jobs with him was one thing. Letting Harvey work the bar or throw his weight around on a few brawls, another. But this was a different entity entirely. This could literally be the end of her. Jack wouldn't stop. He never did.

And when it all sank in, she stood, head down, picking up her phone and calling Harvey. She didn't know where he was but she knew he was close.

"What's wrong?" Harvey was on the phone in an instant.

"Where's Tom?" Liz asked, huffing and glancing around.

"Other side street. Listen, let's get outta here. Grab a bite to eat, talk." He was running his hands through his hair, waiting for the moment she told him to show himself, watching her from far away and hoping this would be the end of it. His speech was quick, but he felt like they didn't have time.

She paused, staring at the sky a moment and letting a simple smile lift her features. "Yeah. I'd like that." She breathed. "But what about all this?"

"Fuck all this. Liz, I'm willing to get outta Gotham. Let's go. You an' me."

Liz stopped all thought. "You serious?"

"Hell yeah I'm serious. Let's go. Get a shitty apartment, find other jobs, put a ring on that finger…"

"Where are you?" she was giggling and shaking her head while looking around. He'd missed that giggle of hers. It'd been so long since things weren't tense.

And before Harvey could start the car, he saw someone approaching behind her. "Liz, look out! Behind you. Is that…? Just go.  _Go,_ Liz!"

She looked behind her, though she shouldn't have. She should have run. And Harvey was tossing down the phone and putting gas pedal to floor, cussing and sweating and fearful. But he grabbed her. Got her around the neck, aimed a gun at her head and cast a warning glance toward Harvey's speeding car. The ex-detective jammed on the breaks, shifted to park, shut off the ignition, and slowly exited the vehicle. His hands itching to get to his gun holster, but Jack cackled at Harvey's slow walk toward them.

"This was your plan? Throw her at me? Good idea, officer." He laughed, waving his gun toward him. "I know you're packing, toss it down now."

Despite himself, Harvey did as he was told. Watched in horror as Jack tightened his chokehold on Liz, but did as he was told. Where the Hell was Tom?

"Let her go. Have me," he glanced at Liz's fearful expression then back at Jack. "Just let her go."

"You're not the one I'm after," Jack replied. "But since you're always getting in the way…" he cackled as he fired and Harvey took a bullet to the belly.

From on the ground Harvey watched as Jack dragged Liz a few steps toward the apartment building. Then, frustrated, he knocked her upside the head with the butt of the gun and dragged her unconscious body away.

"Tom!" Harvey coughed out, struggling to his feet and aching while in motion. "Tom!" nothing. No car tires behind him, no people around this area, none of Tom's men. So Harvey struggled to his car to grab his cell phone and dial GCPD, Gordon, anyone who would answer. "Jim, he's got her again. Jim!" and he was spouting out the address like a drunkard and hoping Jim knew this wasn't a false alarm. The two hadn't spoken in some time.

Moving hurt, but he managed to make it to the apartment building and let himself in. Met with a wall of doors, he felt the color drain from his face. Which one was Jack in? Hadn't Tom mentioned he'd sent guys after him? Had he ever gotten a room number? Had Harvey been listening?

After a few moments of contemplation he remembered the numbers 8, 19, and 32 so he started chronologically. Pounding on doors, begging, asking anyone if they knew who Jack Napier was if they answered for the bloodied, pudgy, ex-detective.

The 8, 19, 32 thing was wrong and Harvey was soon at the door of the apartment's office, holding his innards in and struggling to pull out his badge. Only he'd turned it in when he'd quit GCPD. And the lady didn't believe that he was a cop.

"Look, I don't got my badge right now but this is an emergency. Your new tenant just kidnapped someone and dragged her in here. GCPD is on their way and if you don't let me know what room he's in my supervisor, Sarah Essen, is gonna be  _pissed_." The lady stared at him, bored. Time to lay it on real thick. "The mayor's daughter is missing and I swear to you I will get your ass fired for failing to comply with an officer. For all I know you could be in on this. You working with Napier?" Harvey was sweating something fierce with this bullet in his stomach, but he held it together as best he could.

Suddenly the lady's eyes widened; at the mention of the mayor or the loss of her job Harvey didn't know. Either way he got a room number. 26. Up the stairs, down the hall, fifth door from the emergency exit on the left.

When he turned back and entered the building again, Tom finally showed his ugly mug and Harvey almost beat him bloody then. Only the whole  _bloody_ thing was already taken care of. Tom looked like he went eight rounds with a brick wall.

"Where the fuck were you? He's got her. I just badgered some bitch to get the apartment number."

Tom shook his head. "Took a phone call at the wrong moment, thought it was you. Someone working for Jack tussled with me. GCPD will probably be distracted by that large, dead body outside."

His mind drifted to Liz, hoping to God Jack had some fucked up thing planned, some elaborate scheme that bought him a little time to get to her, bought her more time to keep breathing. But he heard a scream and suddenly he was sinking. Liz. That had to be Liz. They hadn't been themselves in months and he couldn't help but think that if they didn't make it through this, he'd never forgive himself. She'd said 'see ya soon' but not like this, no. Not like this.

The blood was pooling from his stomach wound, but with his adrenaline was pumping something good, he was sprinting the rest of the way down that hall. Called Jim on the way there and gasped into the phone that he needed backup – stat. Acted like a cop again. Acted like this was some perp and some victim that wasn't Lizzy sitting locked up in that room with that psychopath. Jim promised to bring backup. Promised he'd be there quick. An ambulance too, just in case. They'd heard gunshots on the run up the stairs and Tom ditched his side once he saw other grunts storming toward them, but it was okay. It was okay because he was right outside the door with the number 26 on it and he couldn't help but wonder why the smell of blood was filling his nostrils, but he kicked down that door anyway and saw her.

"Harleen," he spoke her real name now, sobbed it like a toddler, fell down on his bad knees and curled her into him. Jack was in the corner with a knife sticking out of his chest, no doubt Harleen stuck him with it, smug look on his face. Not even trying to escape. Acting like this was what he'd planned out all these years. This was his masterpiece and Harvey and Harleen were just pawns in his little game.

"I'm okay," she tried to assure him. "It'll be alright."

"They're on their way. I called an ambulance. I knew, baby, I knew…you gotta hold on." But she was coughing up blood and it was so bad Harvey couldn't look anymore.

She was holding her chest and trying to stop the bleeding but her arms were going numb and she felt out of breath.

"It's over, Harvey. It's over…" she whispered, tears dripping and mixing with her blood. Harvey cried too, cried like a baby.

"You can't go," Harvey told her. "You can't. Who's gonna put up with me?" he tried to joke, but he was serious. "Who's gonna listen to me bitch about Jim Gordon? Or bring me danishes on my breaks?"

A soft smile appeared on her lips and for a silent moment Harvey thought he lost her then. He shook her, held her tighter, and she opened her eyes, looking at him with such intensity. "You were the greatest thing to happen to me, Harvey."

"No past tense. Come on."

But she knew. She could feel this. Nothing like getting shot at Wayne Manor protecting Bruce. Nothing like getting her head smashed against her desk at Arkham. Nothing like all the beatings and punches Jack laid on her years before. This was something metal and dark and throbbing and she tasted it on the backs of her teeth. The look on Harvey's face made her aware that he knew it too. He knew it and he was too damn terrified to give her a proper send off.

But she leaned up and kissed him, softly, nothing like they used to but it brought it all back to Harvey – that first kiss on the couch at her place, how light her body felt on him and how heavy she felt now. He was reminded of the bar when the first saw each other but he didn't get her name. Years later when they knew each other but he still didn't know her  _name_. That time in front of Arkham when he confronted her with a mugshot of a Harleen with blonde hair. All those nights. All that time. And he wouldn't be the one dying in an alley alone. Not just yet.

And like that, she stopped breathing, stopped blinking. Her eyes were still open, that ring of amber still visible to the detective as he was reminded of the energetic girl he met one Halloween night a decade ago. He wanted to remember her like that.

When footsteps came up behind him, Harvey didn't even flinch. Tom stood above him, surveying the scene. And Jack was suddenly on his feet as if he hadn't seen Harvey as a threat. Only he was smiling widely and Tom laughed. Harvey looked between the two of them, breath caught in his throat.

"Surprise, detective," Tom hummed low in his throat. "You didn't  _really_ believe that sob story all those weeks ago, did you?"

Harvey stood, keeping his back toward a wall as Jack approached too.

"You're working with him," Harvey pieced it together, anger boiling over.

"Wow, come up with that yourself!?" Tom laughed. "I'll spell it out for you, how 'bout? Jack comes into my bar. Tells me a story. A story about a fucked up girl who gets to play pretend. A girl who gets the guy, who lives the high life. Suggests I help him and his plan sounded so genius, I couldn't help but agree."  _This is it_ , Harvey thought as Tom pulled out a gun. "The two of you were so eager to go after him, I didn't even really have to manipulate you. It all happened like he said: the torture, the desperation, the trust."

Harvey threw the first punch, ducking away from the gun and trying his damnedest to get it away from Tom. Jack hadn't fought much, just kicked him in the ribs a few times while he was down. The blood loss was getting to him, making him lightheaded and slow. Yet he fought; got to his feet and dove at Jack. The ringing in his ears was back and he had Jack by the collar, bringing fist to nose and breaking it.

There were footfalls in the hallway and Tom looked out to find police officers running toward them.

"We've gotta go," he called to Jack who promptly kicked Harvey in the bullet wound and booked it out of there, down the fire escape.

And then there was silence. Harvey's eyes were hollow when he pressed his fingers to Liz's neck and found nothing.

This had been Tom's fault. Tom twisting his story, convincing them that they had a mutual friend in Selina and Butch, that they had a mutual enemy in Jack. Tom putting the idea of bait in Liz's head. Tom leading them into a world of back alley crime and bloodshed. They weren't the same after they started working for him. She'd known Jack was manipulative, but her pure faith that this would be over soon pushed her to keep going. And Tom was believable. All those bodies, the torture, the blood; all of it had been just a ruse – some kind of game Jack and Tom were playing. And they fell for it at every turn. Revenge was a powerful drive.

Jim Gordon came. Harvey didn't know how long it'd been but the tears stopped coming. Their blood had been mixing together on his slacks and soaking him to the bone, but the tears had stopped. He'd leaned himself up against a wall and brought her into his lap. Skin cold. Lips blueish. And Jim was telling Harvey how sorry he was for a good five minutes before they actually got him standing and pulled him away from her.

"Harvey, we need to get you fixed up," Jim spoke softly, grabbing at his shoulder. "Harv."

The tears started up again when they took her from him. Jim let him break down on his shoulder, holding him tightly as he hid his face with the brim of his hat.

His last look at his girl was when they were loading her in a body bag.

She used to make him forget the nightmares. Now she was all they consisted of.


	35. Chapter 35

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After months of playing around with the idea, I decided to end this fic like this. It just flowed for me and I'm so sorry for torturing Harv. Silver lining? I've decided to continue writing our danish-eating detective. I just posted the semi-sequel (I only say 'semi' because it's related to this fic, but could also stand alone if any other readers would like to join us.)

Alfred would never forgive Harvey for putting her in that situation. Though he knew it was probably Lizzy's idea in the first place, he knew Harvey owned handcuffs and if she was going to be that headstrong about running full-force into the most dangerous person she knew, Harvey should have been intelligent enough to slap those cuffs on her and keep her locked up for a few days. At least until she came to her senses.

But Harvey admitted he didn't get to her soon enough. His thoughts were all jumbled when thinking about buying a ring and leaving this Godforsaken city and marrying a girl. Those plans were long gone now, though he was tempted to jump in with Scottie. Just to stop the hurting. A band-aid. Just to keep the wound from opening up much more.

And Jim was telling him what a stupid plan that was. Harvey wasn't the marrying type, they both knew that, but there was also the understanding that things could have been different. With Lizzy. She was good at disappearing. Starting again. Things could have been so much different. But now she was gone. And  _now_  was much more painful than Harvey ever imagined it would be.

He always thought that whoever he ended up with –  _if_ he ever ended up with anyone – he'd be the one to kick the bucket first. It was his line of work. It was natural. No one would be surprised. But Liz did him in. It felt like the world was caving around him most days.

They still hadn't found them.

GCPD searched the surrounding area, but came up empty-handed. No Jack or Tom, not even a grunt to get a lead from. Tom left town, Harvey was sure. The coward would run for a while. He knew Harvey was out for blood, knew he wasn't sleeping and instead roamed the streets in search of them after every shift. The fact that they survived this burned something awful in him. That Lizzy could throw herself into the fire just to rid the world of one more scumbag and Tom could possibly still be  _breathing_ after the shit he pulled? No. Harvey was responsible. And he'd find him. If it was the last thing he did. But he was tired of running. That new scar on his belly from a bullet wound from that night was  _not_ pretty and it reminded him daily that he was getting too old for this. Too old to chase down pretty girls. Too old to get attached to one and watch her die in his arms. Too. Old.

When Essen was killed by another psychopath, Harvey had it. GCPD was a shit place but so was his world at the moment. He thought ' _why not',_ got nothing else to lose. Most nights he went in head-first and got himself hurt because at least that gave his mind something else to focus on. At least he could stop the bleeding.

They had a funeral.

Some sunny day at the same cemetery they ran into each other after their first date. The same one she was comforting Bruce at. At the Wayne's funeral.

The look on Bruce's face knocked the wind out of him. He'd have rather the kid punch him right in the gut. No words were spoken between the two, but he knew Bruce knew the truth. That Harvey had been weak. That he'd been slow and old and too damn caught up in his head to save the girl he loved. That he'd been so fucking stuck on revenge that he didn't see any warning signs with Tom. And now they were all out a friend. And the world seemed a bit less bright.

But days did pass and time went on and Harvey found himself at her grave more often that he'd admit to anyone. Started drinking again. Picked up that bottle and never put it down. Carried his hip flask with him again and he knew Jim could see it. Downward spiral. But what else did he have?

So he buried himself in work and tried not to see the dark look in Jim's eyes and the shady shit he knew the boy scout was getting into. He'd been down that road. Many times. And it got Liz killed. But would he warn Jim? No. No one had been there to warn him and he was so miserable he didn't think he owed anyone any favors.

There were a few times he regretted having a gun. The nights he'd been up drinking till 4 a.m. especially. When the bullets were looking really friendly and the promise of escape was almost too tempting to pass up. But he'd never been the kind of asshole for suicide. He was too scared of dying. Rather waste away to nothing than taste the metal. He'd made the mistake of mentioning it to Jim one afternoon and his partner never let him live it down. And then it was random phone calls at midnight 'just to check in' and a few suggestions to go see a therapist. But that would remind him of sitting across that table from Liz forever ago as she picked his brain and made him break down.

So the therapy session was out. Instead Jim settled on hanging out once a week. Harvey knew it was gonna be more than booze and a ball game. And it always was: a check in on his mental state – which was always a fucked up mess, by the way. But Harvey did enjoy the company. It was something to look forward to once a week, even though Jim picked his brain. Never pushed him too far, but Liz was mentioned almost every time and the memory of her bleeding in his arms was always too much to take. Between the nightmares and how empty his bed always felt, his sleep was worse than before. So he'd started popping pills.

Loss was a funny thing. Grief, even funnier. Just when Harvey buried himself so deep in work, he hadn't thought about her in days, it all came crashing right back down when he caught a hint of that mango lotion she wore – that vacation smell – and he was breaking down in his car after work one night. Screaming so loud Ed came to check on him and Harvey didn't even have it in him to push the weasel away. Just rest his forehead on the steering wheel and muttered a plea to leave him alone. He'd become a weeping, mourning mess.

But there finally came a day where he didn't cry and he put on his tie and his badge and even smiled at the gun holster that brought back so many lovely memories of her. He had to keep going. She was the tougher one of the two and he often wondered how hard it was for her to walk away from her family just to get away from Jack. She'd found her spine after years of torture. And he'd find his too. Little by little. Day by day.

But the hurt would never truly be gone. Those old country songs that tell you otherwise lie. There would be moments he'd be reminded. Like finding her voicemails on his phone or seeing his sister and nieces again and having to act like everything was okay. Or seeing the little notes she'd written in his notepad at his desk, the x's and o's she'd sign with. Or watching the lackeys start to use her office as storage, months after the incident.

Moments all coming together into this one; the big one: he let go.


	36. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just wanted to give y'all a little taste of what's coming in the sequel: Dark Times.

_James Gordon is gonna get you killed one day._

Barnes' words rang in Harvey's ears and he decided another shot would do the trick. Hell, maybe four more just in case. He was feeling things again, now that he had time to focus on anything aside from acting Captain. The nightmares were back and no amount of alcohol or pills could change that fact. Jim's emptiness was evident and it killed Harvey knowing what this job did to the white knight – what it'd done to  _him_. He'd told him: no heroes. Hadn't he? Hadn't Dix told him the same thing? Had  _he_ listened? No. But he'd been hopeful that Jim would.

And here they were with a bottle between them and nothing but silence to fill the void they'd come to know.

How long had it been since he let Lizzy down? He was counting the months back in his head, staring at the bar mirror, trying to ignore the memories of what it felt like to have her body in his arms. What it felt like to fill the lonely and the ache of the empty. He let his mind wander once in a while; like picking an old wound. Like reminding himself of his mistakes could somehow bring her back to him. He'd lost count, he'd realized, and that made him feel like he was letting her down again. He was moving on. He was working and still breathing and  _forgetting_ how long it'd been since her death. How could he? He used to keep a tally of the days next to his calendar but lately he'd been too busy to take note.

It was as if Jim could read his expression and he moved his hand on the bar to pat Harvey's fist gently. Silent support as the two downed more beers. If Jim hadn't been there all this time, Harvey wouldn't have been able to handle it.

"I'm okay, brother," he managed over the noise.

Something caught his eye in the mirror. The corner booth of the bar. He felt like he was falling but he wasn't drunk enough yet. Another shot for good measure and he could feel her hands on him, fingers splayed across his bicep.

"Captain, fancy seeing you here."


End file.
